


Not a Problem, Just a Challenge

by RebelPaisley



Series: Life is Pandemonium [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Beginning of season 3, Boys being oblivious, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Lauren Zizes is amazing, M/M, Make Outs, Male Slash, but it's okay because it all works out, dealing with FEELINGS, everyone is too damn nosy, fighting to woo someone, general trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelPaisley/pseuds/RebelPaisley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zizes breaks up with Puck he asks Mike to share his girlfriend, figuring that Lauren would take him back if he proved what a stud he was. Mike, being sane, refuses. </p><p>Puck, honor offended, retaliates by trying to woo both Mike *and* Tina.  Because...that makes sense.</p><p>The entire ordeal would be a lot more unfortunate if Mike wasn't growing so attached to the stupid lug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Open foot, insert mouth

Mike barely looked up from his captivating match of Call of Duty when Puck crawled in through his window (the dancer had long gotten used to Puck's insistence on resisting the societal practice of using doors), clambering in with distinct finesse before slamming the frame down with a resounding thud that the jock usually resorted to using when he was in desperate need of attention but wanted to be subtle about it. This generally guaranteed that he wasn't going to be subtle _at all_ , but Mike always gave him points for trying.

Behind him Puck flopped gracelessly onto the bed, sagging into the mattress as though the weight of the world had crashed down upon him. Mike waited and…yes, a melodramatic sigh followed and Puck had undoubtedly come to the part in his act where he flung an arm across his eyes, despairing. If Mike didn't like keeping his face in such pristine, un-punched condition he would have commented that Rachel was infecting the mohawked teen (Puck hadn't been nearly this bad before joining glee club) but the dancer was on a kill streak and in a remarkably good mood so he kept that to himself.

Puck, unappreciative of his lack of concern, nudged the base of Mike’s spine with his foot and sighed a little louder, waiting to be "doted" on.

Mike shrugged it off, focusing on the screen.

Just a few more minutes and the match would be over anyway. Besides, they weren't even dating (no matter what Puck had declared), they were simply in some mangled hybrid form of a booty-call that Puck had the audacity to _call_ dating. Since clearly this wasn't a call for Mike to put out (at least not yet) and they _weren't_ dating, Mike didn't _have_ to sit and listen to Puck complain about his life (even if he normally did because he was a nice guy like that).

If it was really that bad Puck could wait a few more minutes. It would teach him the value of patience. Since this whole shebang had started Mike had tried to teach the "lovable" jock its importance, but as of yet nothing had gotten through.

Yeah, this summer had been…odd. Granted, after Mike had given in to Puck's demands things had gone a lot smoother for him, though it was not to say the mohawked teen hadn't found new ways to leave him in fits of aggravated frustration. Apparently once Puck declared Mike cool the whole "soul intervention" thing was dropped. Which was nice, Mike had began to develop an allergic reaction to the scented candles they had used, but after _that_ new complications were more than happy to arise.

Like the fact that Puck decided they were dating…kind've…not really. Basically he just stuck with the making out stuff. That _and_ he'd call at sporadic hours of the day to talk about…whatever, it wasn't really ever consistent and it never had anything to do with them. Mike suspected that half the time Puck called because his internet was down and he just really, _really_ wanted to know some random fact that he would probably end up forgetting the moment he hung up the phone.

Thankfully Puck hadn't really gotten beyond that. There weren't any actual feelings there (and Mike wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not because Puck _had_ claimed him as his "boyfriend") or attempted dates (not that Mike was sore about it or anything, he was actually quite glad) but he couldn't help but feel he wasn't represented himself in the _"I deserve respect"_ aspect of the world all that well. Especially when Tina and Zizes demanded that he and Puck make out for them.

Yeah, that wasn't doing any favors for Mike’s manliness.

The good news was that the farthest they had gone was second base, and it didn't look like they were going to get past that… _ever_.

Eh, you took what victory's you could get.

There were benefits to "dating" Puck as well. He at least _attempted_ not to be as much of a jerk towards Mike. He didn't go out of his way to make insulting comments and didn't call him a girl anymore (which Mike found especially ironic considering the conditions required to make that happen) and Tina seemed to be incapable of being angry at him.

Who knew that live guy-on-guy action could be so strangely powerful?

Whatever, Mike wasn't complaining. All he had to do was put up with Puck (who he could begrudgingly admit wasn't all that bad of a kisser) barging in whenever he pleased (and luckily that wasn't too often or Mike would have more issues with this) and things pretty much went as smoothly as they always did.

No one was even upset about their arrangement. Kurt sent the occasional text message to check up on things every now and then, but that was the entire amount of effort anyone was putting forth to interfere.

Mike would have questioned it if he hadn't been so grateful.

On the screen an enemy soldier jerked and crashed to the ground, brought down by his sniper rifle. He smirked, tapping the button to reload as he began to move to a new position. He had already killed about five guys from this spot, they could probably figure out where he was by now and he didn't-

Mike flailed, letting out an undignified squawk as a hand groped between his legs, _hard_.

_Shit_ , he hadn't even noticed Puck had moved. Mike’s controller clattered against the carpet, the grenade button accidentally triggered. The dancer tried to scramble for it, to move his character out of harm's way, but Puck squeezed again, making Mike blush, heat rising to his cheeks as his character exploded on-screen.

Clearly this was Puck's way of saying he didn't feel like being ignored anymore, and Mike was willing to bet that he probably wouldn't get to play the rest of his match.

"Puck," he growled, batting the offending hand away. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

The jock shrugged, eyes half-lidded and showing no signs of remorse. If anything _he_ was the one that looked irritated. "Nope," he drawled, watching Mike's motionless character get mowed down by the other team with subdued interest. "We have more important things to talk about."

Mike glared (ineffective but it usually made him feel better). "I was almost done."

Puck raised an eyebrow and pointed to himself. "More. Im-por-tant."

They stared at each other for a moment, Mike scowling at the other teen’s thoughtlessness while Puck did very little to restrain his evident boredom of things not pertaining to him. Another explosion on the screen broke Mike out of his one-sided glaring contest and he sighed, reaching down and snatching up his controller. He logged off and turned to face Puck expectantly; waiting for him to get to sharing so _he_ could get back to playing.

Hopefully it wouldn't be anything too terribly pressing.

Puck, seeing that he had Mike’s full attention, flopped back down on the bed and resumed his pity party from earlier as though nothing had happened.  As though he had _not_ just forced Mike into compliance. The dancer frowned but crawled until he was lying beside Puck, as was expected. The other jock wouldn't admit it but he was a big fan of cuddling, and Mike wouldn't admit it (not even to himself) but he kind've enjoyed being the cuddle-er as opposed to the cuddle- _ee_. Of course, these were things you never talked about (at least after the first time when Puck punched him in the face for being snarky) so he quietly settled in beside Puck, wishing to hell it felt a lot more awkward than it actually did.

"Alright," Mike grumbled, at least putting up the appearance of still being miffed so Puck wouldn't think he had gotten off easily. "What's the problem?"

If Zizes hid his guitar again Mike was going to scream. She always hid it in the _same_ place, it was _never_ different. Mike had tried to drill "the closet under the stairs" into Puck's brain at least three different times, but much like the patience thing, it wasn't sticking.

Thankfully it was something different.

"The world is ending," Puck lamented, throwing up his free arm overdramatically. Mike was torn between suppressing a sigh or a snicker, because seriously, drama queen, and chose to distract himself with settling in, draping an arm across Puck's waist while the other continued to passionately insist on the upcoming apocalypse.

"Zizes broke up with me," the despairing jock continued, disbelief mixed with just the tiniest hints of heartfelt sorrow. "She said that glee club and I weren't cool enough." He shifted angrily, curling an arm around Mike's waist as he shook a fist at the ceiling. "Can you believe that, I'm a frickin' pimp man, and she dumped me!"

Mike patted his side, fully aware of how deeply this must have hurt the other teen. Zizes was…she and Puck had a weird relationship, but _he_ was happy and _she_ was happy and Mike guessed that was all that mattered at the end of the day. Losing her like this was…well, for Mike it was a mild relief because she was intimidating as _hell_ , but Puck was legitimately hurting so Mike did his best to comfort him.

But as Puck went on and on about the injustice of it all Mike froze, stewing over a sudden realization.

Did that mean he wouldn't have to date Puck anymore?

Wait, no; he meant "date" Puck.

The only reason Puck had even… "chased" (and that was putting it very nicely) after him was because Zizes had told him to. With her out of the picture would Puck call it off?

Horrifyingly enough, Mike found that he was actually conflicted over thought. He would be more depressed over that if it weren't for the fact he had mourned the loss of his sanity long ago. Best to not to dwell on it.

But back to Puck, if he broke up with Mike would he go back to treating the dancer like garbage?

Did he still even _want_ to date Mike?

His query was answered shortly.

"…and that's why," Puck continued when Mike chose to zone back in. "I need you to share Tina. Like, I'm going to ask her too, but since she's going to jump at the chance to get a piece of this," he motioned to his body, flexing his bicep. "I thought I'd run it by you first." Plan fully explained Puck reclined against the bed, looking incredibly pleased with himself, smiling at Mike knowingly.

The dancer blinked in confusion, still trying to process what he heard. "What?"

Puck let out an aggravated sigh, like _he_ was the one dealing with an idiot, and gave Mike a look of utmost patience Puck usually reserved for when dealing with Brittany.

"Zizes wants a popular guy so I need to stick to the pimp plan." _Which had been a moronically stupid plan to begin with_ , Mike's mind silently added. "Once she sees how much respect I'll get for dating you and goth central she'll totally come crawling back." Puck paused for a moment to allow it to sink in. "It's fool-proof."

Mike blinked some more, wishing he had misheard (but knowing all too well that he hadn't) and sat up slowly, rubbing the side of his head. Puck grunted in protest of losing his cuddle buddy, but Mike held up a silencing hand, preparing himself to dole out some long-time-coming tough love.

Or maybe it was pent-up aggravation.

Either way…

"First of all," he started, keeping his voice calm and level. "This is not dating."

Puck sat up quickly, beginning to object. "Dude-"

"No," Mike interrupted, glaring him into submission. " _This_ is not dating. This is _me,"_ he gestured to himself so that Puck couldn't get lost. "Making out with _you,"_ he tapped Puck's chest. "So that _you,_ " he tapped a little harder, for visual aid's sake. _"_ Will stop treating _me_ horribly, which aggravatingly enough, is something you do to everyone else _for free_."

Puck had the gall to look like he was going to protest this but Mike waved him off.

"You know what, it's cool." He muttered, rubbing the side of his head again. " _Clearly_ by this point I have accepted this. But it's not dating." He reached out a hand and covered Puck's mouth, not wanting to give him the opportunity to interrupt his lecture. "Dating involves two people who actually _like_ each others personalities and because of _that_ , they make out and go on dates and spend time with each other. Real dating involves wooing and caring and…" Mike waved free hand in frustrated, searching for the right words. "Not this. You had to win Zizes over just like I had to win Tina over-"

Puck pulled his hand away and gave Mike an incredulous look. "She liked your abs."

Mike glared, slapping his hand back in place. "Shut up." That was just the hook, she liked him for his personality.  Really, she did. "What I'm saying is that dating requires _effort_ and it's not just something you do just _because_." He pulled his hand away and sat back, waiting to see if his words had left any lasting impact.

To his credit, Puck actually looked thoughtful, mulling over Mike's words in a way that suggested Mike had finally earned his respect.

…Could it be?

Things were looking up, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, Puck was… _maturing_. And Mike had been the one to witness it- no, to _instigate_ it.

Mike was victorious, Mike had won! He had walked through the valley of evil and survived, he had climbed the tallest mountain, had traipsed through metaphoric jungles and deserts and lived to tell the tale. He was the greatest man on earth right now, nothing could ruin this moment, nothing could dampen his spirits, nothing could-

"So," Puck started, breaking Mike out of his mental victory dance and pointing a finger knowingly. "You're saying I have to woo _both_ of you."

Mike stared; shocked as though a bucket of frozen water had been dumped all over him. "…No."

No, this wasn't fair, he had won, he was a _winner_.

But Puck wasn't listening anymore; he was strategizing, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That shouldn't be too hard; I've already gotten halfway with you."

"No," Mike mumbled, despair washing over him. "That's not…"

"I'm always up for a challenge," Puck decided, mind clearly somewhere else.

"Please, no," Mike whispered, praying to whatever God there was to listen.

"I got this!" the mohawked teen declared, springing up from the bed with renewed gusto. "Mike Chang," he announced, giving the look Mike was only too aware as being his 'sexy' face. "Prepare to be wooed."

And with that proclamation he vacated the room, ducking back out through the window before Mike could gather his wits again and demand a do-over. The dancer stared at the well-maintained glass for a long time, trying to convince himself the entire exchange had been a mere figment of his imagination.

And then, when that failed, he attempted to look on the positive side of things.

Suffice it to say he was still unsuccessful, which was only the beginning of his problems.


	2. Never too Good to Beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck's advances start becoming more and more persistent, forcing Mike to look for help in places no teen should subject themselve to. Let alone cute, well-coordinated Asians.

While Mike's paranoid plan of guarding all things/ideas/areas of his girlfriend's life, as well as his girlfriend from the likes of Noah Puckerman and said Puckerman's wooing, was very well intended, it unfortunately was not as successful as he had hoped it would be.

It wasn't that Mike hadn’t put enough effort into it, or that he hadn’t covered all his bases as well as he could (he was thorough to the point of lunacy, if anything), it was just that Puck, being not _quite_ of this world, was ridiculously hard to predict.

Mike tried; he really did, to guess the other teen’s plan of attack but there just…wasn't enough information there.

He had tried to rack his mind for all the other times Puck had tried to woo girls (people, objects…Mike was _not_ a girl) but came to the startling realization that whatever the stupid jock had done with Zizes was as close to wooing as he was ever going to get. All the other times he had pretty much just offered to get his target drunk or demanded sex and…that pretty much worked.

And while such tactics pretty much guaranteed (with the exception of Zizes) that you weren't going to have a stable relationship, Mike was pissed that they had worked at _all_.

So with no previous experience to pull from, Puck had gotten a little creative.

Mike wasn’t entirely sure where Puck got the idea of flower arrangements, let alone the will to actually go through with them, but the dancer had suddenly found himself defending his girlfriend's doorstep from haphazardly put together bouquets of dead flowers.

Yes… _dead_ flowers. And they weren't…it was obvious that _some_ effort had been put into them. That Puck had put great care into picking out decaying greenery and arranging them and tying them together with ragged, black bandanas. The notes he sent with them, while less than thought-provoking, were…and shouldn't have been, but still frustratingly _were_ just the tiniest bit endearing. Because Puck was actually _trying_. He wrote poetry, he complimented Tina's hair, he did all the things a guy like Puck was _never_ supposed to do.  It made Mike torn between keeping the love notes as possible blackmail tools and burning them to a crisp as a measure of coping. The arsonist in him won eventually, but it sickened Mike to say he had actually considered the other option.

He burned the flowers sometimes too, when just chucking them in the trash wasn’t enough.

Unfortunately, Mike’s ego managed to get the best of him.                                    

He had accounted for and destroyed all welcome mat flower arrangements but he had _not_ taken into consideration that Puck would eventually catch wise to his preventative measures. Apparently the mohawked teen had gotten tired of his loving efforts being burned up in flames and decided to put an end to such demises by sneaking a bouquet into Tina's locker.

Let it be known that Mike was not proud of the events that followed.  He took very little pleasure in them, but as he had yet to inform Tina of the Puck…situation, his hands had really been tied.

Still, he hung his head in shame every time he stumbled across the memory.

Mike had been moving to meet up with Tina at her locker before they went to lunch, as he had always done. Up to that point it had been a very nice day. There had been no arrangements to destroy at Tina's house, no sneak gropes from Puck, just smooth sailing. Mike was in the good and clear and wanted to celebrate, maybe he would take Tina out, somewhere nice, somewhere that _wasn't_ Dim Sum, she would like that and…

In almost slow motion, down the hall Mike had seen Tina peering into her locker curiously before ever-so-slowly pulling out a horrible dead-rose corsage. Black and wilted and all dried up in a disgusting array of decomposition pinned to a black bandana because Tina was just "too badass to deal with ribbons". Mike stopped, literally just stopped right there, paying no heed to the people jostling by and having their way with his shoulders.

He hadn't thought to check Tina's locker. He knew Puck was good but he didn't think he…and Mike should have because he broke into another _school_ for Zizes (or was it two?) and now Mike had to go and explain the perpetual rain of stupid he had brought down upon he and his girlfriend.

It wasn't _fair_ , why did Puck have to be fixated on _him_? What had Mike done wrong (aside from questioning the status quo)? Why did he deserve-?

_Oh God there was a note._

_Agh_ \- as bad as the gifts of dead flowers were the notes were _worse_. And what if Tina wanted to keep it? What if she thought it was funny, what if she _framed_ it? Then Mike would _never_ be able to escape Puck's stupid-

And then she was looking up at Mike with a smile, wide and bright in a way that left his legs _wiggly_ for a second before he remembered how to use them.

Luckily she made his way toward him, throwing her arms around his neck as soon as she was close enough.

"Thank you," she said, leaning in and kissing Mike soundly on the lips, unbothered by the audience of the hallway. "You always get it just right," she whispered after she pulling back, waving the folded note at him coyly before taking off to lunch.

The horrified feeling of shock didn't die away for a long time, because Puck had… _won_. He had successfully managed to create a token of affection that Tina liked, that Tina _enjoyed_ , that made her smile and had been created especially for her and…dead flowers _shouldn't_ have been…they were _dead_ …

It wasn't fair; Mike was going to have nightmares about this for weeks. And the note, the stupid _note_ , it was another poem, one that Tina found endearing with its blunt and impetuous effort.

It read:

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue,_

_I have sweet abs,_

_And should be with you._

The fact that she thought _he_ wrote that was still something Mike was coping with.

Of course it wasn't just Tina Puck was showering with "affection".

Three times, read it, _three_ times Puck had snuck over to Mike’s house to _serenade_ him. And every time the dancer had to scramble out of his house via door, window, or sky light ( _it's complicated_ ) to intercept the other teen before he attracted the entire neighborhood's attention, or worse, Mike’s _parents_. To be honest he had been glad for Puck's aversion to doors because Mike could never in a million _years_ be able to explain their little arrangement to his parents in a way that wouldn't have him shipped off to military school. He _barely_ managed to keep his place in glee club; his parents catching wind of this would ruin him.

The worst part was that the only way to get Puck to leave was to allow the serenading to happen.

Mike had managed to compromise it so they did it in the privacy of Puck’s truck which was, of course, remarkably awkward, especially when Puck switched his aim from songs about getting laid ( _"Touchin' on My")_ to songs about actual romance. The five minutes it took to sing _"Iris"_ were the longest most embarrassing of Mike’s life.

He hated that Puck was trying so hard. It would have been a lot easier to make fun of him or ignore him if he wasn't putting so much goddamn effort into it.

No, _no_ Mike would _not_ be charmed by the fact that Puck was actually _trying_.  He would not going to get walked all over, _again_ , and allow Puck to ruin the whole point of dating.

Mike just needed a game plan, something, or someone, to distract Puck from these shenanigans.

Because this wasn't working.

Eventually Puck was going to start bothering Tina on Facebook (Mike was surprised that the other teen hadn't attempted to do that already) or another flower arrangement was going to sneak past Mike and Puck would have actually signed the card, or he was going to recruit the help of the rest of glee club or _something_ and Mike was _still_ trying to explain to Tina that he had just been trying to warm up for football after the last incident. They were walking, he can't even remember where, all he remembered was that he saw Puck, _with_ his guitar, and then Mike was throwing Tina over his shoulder and taking off in the opposite direction, not bothering to give her a heads up.

He couldn't do that again. He wasn't Finn, he wasn't all that strong. Pure adrenaline was the only reason he hadn't ended up dropping her.

Clearly damage control needed to be done.

Mike had _finally_ gotten the rest of New Directions to stop giving him suspicious glances in fear of random freak outs and this was _not_ helping his case. He needed back up, he needed a savior, he needed…

He needed Zizes.

Like it or not, Mike had to go to that scary beast of a lady, dust off his knees, and grovel his little heart out.

There were no other options.

And if he came out even _mildly_ successful he was going to own Puck's ass for the rest of eternity.

Not that he really wanted to do things with- you know what, never mind.  Just, never mind.

He was a man with a purpose.


	3. Deal with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike subjects himself to the less-than-innocent masterminds of one Lauren Zizes. As can be expected, no good comes of this.
> 
> Though Mike *does* come to a realization, so there's something.

The results of Mike’s past encounters with appealing to Zizes’ sense of compassion _may_ have (and by may, he means definitely, because a majority of this was her fault anyway) persuaded Mike to hesitate bringing forth his new plea long enough for Tina to actually catch wind of what was going on.

He knew it had been inevitable but he honestly didn't think it would come around so fast.  Unfortunately Puck, being the crafty bastard that he was, finally gave up serenading _Mike_ and took his guitar to where he thought it would be more appreciated.

The depressing thing is that it actually _was_.

That was right, Tina, after Puck's initial attempt where she thought he had just gotten lost and kept yelling the directions to Zize's house…and then when that failed, Mike's house, at him, actually appreciated Puck's odd public display of affection for what it was. Somehow the use of one of the most cliché gestures of wooing appealed to her sense of romanticism.

Or maybe it was the fact Puck was actually doing things with her and mind, consistently and with great effort, while Mike had spent his time destroying all said attempts at courtship, therefore unable to produce any of his own. Aside from the credit-stealing for the corsage and a few dates he managed to cram in when he wasn't staking out his yard for signs of invasion like a paranoid lunatic, he'd been kind of…and it pained him to say this, a neglectful boyfriend.

Add in the fact that he had kept this entire ordeal to himself, trying to deal with this on his own, and _now_ she didn't particularly feel like talking to him, or being near him, and was gladly accepting Puck's attention, encouraging it even. Mike would have thought she was trying to make him jealous if she wasn't doing her damndest to make Puck work for it to.

Mike’s relationship now hung in a precarious balance. At the rate he was going he would be forced to start from square one, or lower than that because at square one he at least had the appeal of abs, and start trying to win Tina back over himself.

Yes, now because of that stupid, brain deficient yeti he was going to have to compete for his _own_ girlfriend.

And that was how Mike came to stand outside of Zizes’ window, praying that despite his previous failures and his total lack of intimidation he could somehow pull off a win.

He could really use one of those right now.

He knocked to give a semblance of courtesy and waited patiently for Lauren to show up and deem him worthy of her presence. This time he had thought ahead and came bearing gifts, something that would be a great deal more persuading than his sob story. He knew Zizes’ angle now. She didn't do things just for fun, or to be _nice_ , she made deals. She did something for you, you do something for her. A twenty-four pack of snickers probably wouldn't be enough for her to take Puck back, but it would at least get her to listen. After that she would set her terms and Mike could calculate how much self-respect he was willing to lose in order to make his life Puck-free.

Short of breaking any laws he was pretty much game for anything.

It was a sad, sad day when Lauren Zizes held the keys to his happiness.

It didn't take long before the curtains were pulled back to reveal Zizes, giving him a semi-bored look overshadowed with annoyance. He held up the candy bars tentatively, shifting his weight onto his back heels in case things took a turn for the worse and he had to make a hasty retreat. There were a few tense seconds before she nodded slowly in approval and propped the window open. That was as much as an invitation as she was willing to give before she disappeared from view and Mike looked around uneasily before clambering into her room, sliding the window shut with expert care.

So far, so good.

When he gathered the courage to look back her way Zizes was sitting at her desk looking as in control as usual, if amused, and he ignored the patronized feeling and laid the package of snickers down on her bed gently, offering her a timid smile before sitting down himself, fidgeting anxiously.

No small talk, just get to business.

"I wanna make a deal," he declared, glancing up from the hands that had decided to occupy themselves by wringing each other until his knuckles popped.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, an almost appreciative look on her face.  She shrugged, willing to hear him out. "What do you want?"

He wasted no time, immediately putting forth his claim as soon as she finished talking. "Take Puck back."

Mike learned from his past mistakes. Lauren, much like Santana, was mildly evil, and took great satisfaction in other people’s misery. He didn't bother explaining _why_ , didn't give her a hint at how freakishly desperate he was (though by this point she could probably tell), didn't give her more ammunition to milk this for more than it was worth. He didn't offer her any insecurities to twist for her pleasure, didn't show her any weaknesses to manipulate, this was just a guy appealing to the guy-he-sometimes-made-out-with's ex-girlfriend on behalf of said guy-he-sometime's-used-to-make-out-with.

Because unlike Puck and Zizes and Santana, Mike was actually _nice_ , so he could get away with appearing to do things out of the kindness of his heart.

Yeah, sometimes it paid not to be ridiculously evil.

And while this was a well-thought plan there was still a few moments of silence where Zizes clearly waited for him to complain about why this needed to be done, but he was onto _her_. She would get nothing from him.

When the silence continued along with her incredulous stare Mike gave a pathetic sigh and ran a hand through his hair in a _"gosh I feel so bad for my stupid ex- make-out friend"_ sort of way. "He misses you," he explained, all wide-eyed and earnest and…

_Yes, Mike, lay it on thick_ , _she doesn't know what true goodness looks like, baffle her with you genuine caring._

He glanced back her way when he was feeling moderately successful, only to be met with a far too amused look and he sighed, this time legit, and cut the act. "Just take him back."

"What's he doing?" She asked, evil, _eeeeeviiill_ seeping through because she wanted more misery, _more_ , but glared at her instead, refusing to back down.

"What do you want for it?"

More candy? Jewelry? Autographed copy of Twilight? Public display of humiliation?

What. Did. She. _Want_?

Zizes wasn't used to equipped-with-backbone-Mike and was clearly disappointed by the lack of sharing going on. She narrowed her eyes, threatening, but he glared right back, twisting his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner because he knew he could never pull of menacing and 'manic' was as close to a poker face as he was going to get with her, might as well work it.

She backed off after a few seconds, mock golf-clapping while she laughed at his efforts.  Mike relaxed, rubbing a weary hand across his eyes.

Finally, down to business.

She smirked at him knowingly, tilting her head as she began to state her demands. "For that big a favor and that long a commitment I'm going to want something a little more substantial from you Kato."

Mike rolled his eyes at the jab and motioned for her to continue, not really caring about her twisted foreplay. "Fine, keep going."

Her smirk grew but he offered nothing, knowing he was at her mercy, and she stroked her chin thoughtfully, building up the suspense.

"I'm thinking man sex."

Inside, Mike balked, sputtered and raged and stirred himself up into a righteous fury, but outside he was too tired and too used to indignation inspired by the likes of Pizes, so he simply nodded and wondered when the hell he had gotten so beaten down.

Oh wait; it was when he entered the dragon lady's lair. _That_ _was_ when.

He would most definitely be freaking out over this _later_.  Right now Mike just needed to survive.

She raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised by the lack of protest on his part, and continued, eyes calculating. "You and Puck, on film-"

"No."

She backed up, curious by the appearance of fearlessness, and he shook his head resolutely, ignoring her intrigue.

"I don't want this to come back and bite me later," he explained, laying down the ground rules.

He wouldn't allow himself to be _completely_ pushed around.

Despite the fact he was fighting the strong urge to dive out the window and never look back.

_Keep it together Mike, you can still win._

Sure, he was going to have to have… _sex_ with Puck, but how bad could that be?

Oh, maybe they could get really drunk, that way he probably wouldn't even notice how monstrously he was being violated. They could work that right? Puck had been pretty intent on cuddling him the _last_ time they got completely smashed together. Maybe if he drank enough he could forget the fact that Zizes was watching.

Apparently a little backbone was really all Lauren needed in order to appreciate his…situation, so she nodded slowly, smile growing on her face. "Alright, but it has to be three times."

"Two," he countered, because, what the hell, he might as well _try_ , and Lauren smiled wider and shrugged.

"Okay, two."

…wait?

Had he won?

Did she just agree to…? And then she would take him back…?

No more trying to woo Tina, or woo _him_ , Puck would be gone, _gone_ , and Mike could go back to living a semi-peaceful life of maintaining straight A's _and_ keeping his girlfriend _and_ dancing in glee club _and_ the musical _and_ booty camp _and…_

And all he had to do was have sex with Puck.

…

… _twice_.

…

With an audience.

…

…

Yeah, Mike really wasn't the winner here.

But luckily his body managed to take over while his brain was busy bemoaning the tragedies that had fallen upon him, and he and Zizes shook on it, sealing the deal.

Great, now all he has to do was…would Puck be up for sex even? He hadn't thought of that. Puck had never gone much further then making out and getting a little handsy, Mike had suspected that despite the beliefs Zizes had pushed on her ex-boyfriend and whatever Quinn had said that Puck still wasn't very comfortable doing things with a guy.

_And_ Mike had made it abundantly clear that wooing someone didn't involve physical interactions and _why_ did he have to talk? Obviously he wasn't very good at it. Why hadn't he learned?

Would he have to… _seduce_ (he gagged at the though, literally gagged) Puck? Or could he just decide that sure, they were dating and…oh…. _oh_ that was freaking _brilliant_.

Mike should have thought of _that_ , it was just like chicken! If acted like Puck's plan was working, that he _really_ wanted to date him there would be no reason for them _not_ to…do the dirty, but because Puck didn't really like guys and didn't really like _him_ , he wouldn't be able to go through with it. And then Mike could call him out on it and then Puck's entire Pimp-plan would collapse around him because he had to have _two_ people to make it work and then he wouldn't bother Tina and Mike would win, he would win and then he wouldn't even _have_ to-

…Unless

Unless Puck, with his epic stupidity and delusions of grandeur actually went through with it for whatever reasons he had…

_Guh_ , hopefully it wouldn't come down to that.

But if it _did_ and Puck actually… _no, don't think about it_ , the fact was that Mike would still have his deal with Zizes so he could always fall back on that but…

Damn, he should have thought of this sooner. Seriously, he needed to get his head together. All this acting without thinking was _not_ doing him any favors.

Puck was rubbing off on him, that was all it was.

Zizes crossed over to the window just as he began to make his way back to his car, Snickers already in hand as she called to him. "You have to be sober, too! No alcohol!"

He frowned and glared in her direction, restraining from letting lose a few choice expletives. "What about him?" he countered, digging his hands in his pockets.

Mike had been doing well so far, he might as well try to work it a little more.

She looked thoughtful and took a bite out of the candy bar, tilting her head to the side. "Only one of the times," she allowed finally, and disappeared back into her room before he could argue.

Not that he was going to.

Because she was still freakishly scary.

Backup plan in place, Mike began to stew over his new plan of attack, i.e., make Puck think he won…and then make him regret it.

And while it would probably turn out to be a bad idea, Mike knew he would probably need a little help on this one.

Lucky for him, Kurt just wouldn't be able to refuse this kind of problem.


	4. Survival of the Fittest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike goes to Kurt for advice. He should be less surprised by what it turns out to be. 
> 
> He's not; he just *should* be.

Kurt was more than happy to accommodate Mike's visit into his busy schedule, graciously slotting the dancer in during the mid-evening (allowing them both enough time to recuperate after booty camp) without question or hesitation. Of course, this was probably less from trust and appreciating the prospect of Mike's social skills than it was from already being up-to-date with Puck's Mike-wooing status. While a majority of the glee club was still blind to this (disturbingly so because Tina sure as hell wasn't keeping a lid on it) Kurt and Blaine (and possibly Quinn), being the observational geniuses that they were, had _definitely_ noticed the sudden change in the winds. Until this point Mike hadn't bothered checking to see their opinions on the matter, but he knew if he were in their shoes he would have found the entire situation absurdly hysterical.

As none of them had yet to good-naturedly attempt to intercede on his behalf, Mike could only assume that they had similar feelings on the subject.

 _Bastards_.

They should know at this point that when Mike and Puck were left to their own devises _no good_ could come of it.

Sure, Mike understood Blaine's hesitation (the dancer never really had apologized for the rage-ensued manhandling from the summer) but Mike had thought that he and Kurt were cool. Like, they had bonded somewhat during the experience.

The other teen leaving Mike on his own was not completely unreasonable, they weren't the best of friends, but he thought they were on better terms than that.

Perhaps Kurt was trying to turn over a new leaf, to mature. He was attempting to exercise control. To restrain himself from meddling.

Well, he sure picked a lousy time to do it.

Whatever, it didn't matter. Kurt had agreed to the meet up and Mike could finally settle things with a person who _wasn't_ mentally unstable. It would be a refreshing turn of events.

When Kurt ushered him into his bedroom Mike wasted no time fortifying their position, locking the door and window (he wasn't paranoid, Puck's addled mind wasn't completely set on the proper regulations for flirtation and tended to stray into the realm of stalking once or twice).  Taking one last cursory examination of the room, he decided the defenses were satisfactory and finally relaxed, dropping his backpack to the ground. When he looked back up Kurt was giving him an amused look, though slightly concerned, and Mike shrugged, sitting down on the bed.

"He gets creative," he explained, and Kurt nodded in understanding, taking a seat at his desk and folding his hands in a way reminiscent of a therapist.

It was like the summer all over again.

"So, I assume this is about Puck," Kurt supplied cheerfully, fingers twitching for a pen and paper.  Mike nodded sadly, then shook his head when he remembered his actual reason for coming.

"Yeah, I need your help. Your…expertise, I guess," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. Kurt leaned in, completely entranced, and Mike smiled, glad to know that he had come to the right place. "See I need to get rid of Puck.  I have a plan, I just…I'm not sure how to play it."

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, head tilted in consideration. "And you figured I would know what to do?"

Mike swallowed, then nodded. "I figured you would actually _want_ to help, seeing as our…arrangement was a bit of a…mockery, I guess, to you."

It wasn't something he had ever gathered up the courage to talk about with the younger Hummel, but he had always felt that what he and Puck did, since it was a sham, was kind've…insulting to Kurt.  Mike knew how difficult (okay, so he didn't, he had kept his mouth shut for a majority of High School because of how afraid he was) it had to have been for Kurt, all the trials he had gone through for his sexuality. It took a long time for him to finally find someone who loved him for him, who accepted him, who wanted to be with him. And then Mike and Puck just…fell into their little _thing_ , minimal complications, just like that.

Up to this point they hadn't incurred Kurt's wrath, but they hadn't really talked about it either.

Strangely enough Kurt didn't look all that mad _now_ either, even when directly approached with the subject. Instead he looked a little…sad, that could be it, but it flitted away too quickly for Mike to be completely sure, replaced with the same friendly professionalism as before.

"I _do_ want to help," Kurt allowed finally, leaning back in his chair. "But I'm not, nor ever have been, upset with you Mike."

The immense amount of _relief_ and _gratefulness_ that flooded through Mike made him hesitate for a moment, a lump choking up his throat that he immediately swallowed as he looked away, composing himself. This was ridiculous, but he was…thankful that someone was on _his_ side for once. This… kindness was refreshing. He had really needed it.

He nodded his appreciation but kept his eyes averted for fear of revealing the mess that was becoming his insides.

Kurt, the wonderful, benevolent person that he was didn't call him out on it and took it as a cue to move on. "So Mr. Chang, what's your plan?"

Mike smiled, not at all deterred by the use of his last name, and felt himself pull it back together. "I want to let him win."

Apparently that wasn't the choice of action Kurt was expecting _at all_ though he hid it well, the only tell being the slight widening of his eyes. Still, he kept on track, keeping his questions for later.

Did Mike mention how much he liked this guy? He liked this guy, _a lot_. He was on his way to becoming his new favorite.

Not that he really had an old favorite. For the sake of his love life he would have said that Tina was his favorite, but since that's pretty much down the hole now _anyway_ ….

Yeah, Kurt was his new favorite.

"Go on," Kurt prodded, desperate for more but exuding it in a subtlety that Mike would never be able to master.

Mike leaned forward, encouraged by Kurt's interest. "Puck thinks he wants to date me. I want to let him think I'm all for it. Then, when it comes time to…to _consummate_ the relationship he won't be able to deliver, because he doesn't like me, and _I'll_ be able to call him off on that and then he'll _have_ to stop bothering me and Tina."

…You know, now that he had said it out loud, Mike was struck by the absurdity of it all.

It was a good thing he no longer had his pride.

As though it were possible Kurt's eyebrow quirked higher, clearly traveling along the same train of thought, and Mike shrugged, already too aware of his abundant lack of shame.

You gotta do what you gotta do.

"So…" the to-be therapist trailed off, searching for the right words to explain the…tragedy that was this plan, and Mike stepped in to save him the trouble.

"It's like chicken."

Kurt tilted his head, disbelieving look still on his face. "But with sex."

Mike flushed (though he wasn’t sure _why_ , it was not like he wasn't familiar with the plan) and nodded, raking a hand through his hair. "I know it sounds stupid, but I'm pretty sure it will work."

There was more awkward silence as Kurt attempted to take it all in.  Thankfully, due to their many years of the "McKinley experience" the Broadway know-it-all was willing to suspend his disbelief for Mike's sake and simply go along with it, not objecting or pointing out the bizarreness of it all.

Seriously, _new_ _favorite_.

"And the problem…?" Kurt trailed off, gesturing for Mike's response, and the dancer sat up slowly, wringing his hands.

"I don't know how to do it," he confessed. "I've been so adamant about _not_ wanting to date him that if I just give in now he'll know something's up. Sure, he's stupid, but he's not _that_ stupid."

And yeah, that was debatable for a guy that drove into a gas station and tried to steal an ATM but Mike knew that underneath that thick layer of (not endearing) unintelligence was a _small_ sliver of crafty brilliance. True, Puck didn't use it all that often, but Mike knew it was there. It was one of the few consolations he took when being Puck's sometimes-make-out-buddy.

When Mike looked back over to Kurt after his rambling was done there was a genuine look of fondness on the other teen’s face, and while Mike wasn’t sure _why_ it was there (Puck was _not_ endearing) Mike just appreciated the fact that it wasn’t at all mocking.

Kurt immediately schooled his face into impassive amusement about a second afterwards and tilted his head thoughtfully, stewing over Mike's plan.

"That _is_ a problem," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "And I suggest…" he snapped his fingers as a stroke of genius (or what Mike really, _really_ hoped was a stroke of genius) hit him, and he looked at Mike triumphantly. "I suggest method acting."

When his look of victory was met by blank staring and absolute confusion Kurt sighed and shook his hand vaguely. "You need to play it slow right?"

Mike nodded; since playing it 'fast' wasn't an option this _had_ to be right.

Kurt smiled, glad to see they both agreed he was right and moved on. "So if you want to make your performance believable you just have to…begrudgingly act like he is _actually_ winning you over."

…

And then commenced the great blank staring contest of 2011, where the blankest of blank stares was delivered as a gift to somehow alleviate the confusion of the world.

Yeah, Mike _knew_ that. To act like he was attracted ( _gah)_ to Puck, that was the end goal here, he just hadn't known _how…_

And oh, oh, _ohhhh_ , he got it. Kind've, maybe.

Mike looked back over at Kurt to see that the helpful, kind, compassion look from earlier had been replaced by a devilish smirk, and he realized that even his allies were _just_ a _little_ bit evil.

Yeah, he got it, stupid him for hopes and dreams and whatnot.

So basically Mike just had to keep doing what he was doing, but as a slowly losing battle. Eventually he would…yeah, they all knew where this was going, and he sighed, rubbing the side of his head dejectedly.

"I'll be by you every step of the way," Kurt chirped, far too cheerfully for Mike's growing depression.  The dancer shook a fist in the other teen’s direction to express this, though the action was entirely ignored.

"Look it's not _hard_ , you don't even have to do anything." Mike glared at him but Kurt didn't back down, still on cloud nine. "All you have to do is allow yourself to be wooed." Mike blanched at the idea but Kurt would have none of it, abandoning the seat at his desk for a spot beside Mike, bouncing on the bed in excitement. "Just spend time with him, like you would with a girl." Yeah, except when he was with a girl _he_ was the one making the moves. "And then slowly allow him to touch you, laugh at his jokes, go out of your way to be with him, act like you _enjoy_ his company…" Mike began to protest and Kurt shushed him, too busy explaining his genius plan. "All you have to do is pretend to meet him halfway. Build up his ego and make it believable. _Then_ when he goes in for the kill…Well, you know the rest."

Mike swore that there was this mischievous twinkle in Kurt's eye (which was implausible but by this point _he_ _was_ willing to suspend his disbelief too) that made Mike think that what _he_ thought what "the rest" entailed and what _Kurt_ thought "the rest" entailed were two incredibly different things, and he reminded himself to never let Kurt and Zizes co-conspire _anything_.

He was just not prepared for that kind of world.

"Don't sweat it," Kurt urged, rubbing his hands together in what Mike chose to describe as glee. "Blaine and I will help you."

On second thought, actually having sex with Puck wasn't sounding like such a bad idea after all. Mike was pretty sure if he tried hard enough he could repress the memory.

_Memories._

…damn it.

Though as Kurt began to enthusiastically spout off possible plans and wooing sights (something about getting Blaine to steer Puck, Mike wasn’t sure) the dancer realized that he probably wouldn't be allowed to back out of "Plan: Method Acting". Was it really worse? It probably wouldn't be _that_ bad, after all, he didn't have to do anything. He could just sit back and be pampered. And besides, this could help out his acting for the musical.

And it wasn't like he actually _knew_ how guys had sex anyway.

As though reading his mind, Kurt slid a pamphlet over to Mike excitedly, talking about backup plans, and Mike shoved it into his backpack as quickly as possible without actually taking a look at it.

He might _need_ it.

…and he was mildly curious.

Damn him and his inquisitive nature.

"Don't worry Mike," Kurt cooed, yeah, that was right, he was _cooing_. "We've got your back."

Just one more year. Mike just had to survive _one_ more year.

He could do that.

…right?


	5. No Cookie For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike learns of the importance of properly organizing one's backpack. Apparently that can lead to matters of life and death. 
> 
> Figuratively speaking, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Paisley-verse, Karofsky is still at McKinley.
> 
> That is all.

"What the hell is this?"

There was absolutely no hesitation in Mike's mind whenever the words, complete with disbelieving/surprised/disgusted/general-wtf-ness tone reached his ears (which was kind of pathetically sad in its own way). He once more found himself with the familiar self-deprecating need to bash his head against a wall when it dawned on him that he had, in fact, _not_ taken Kurt's pamphlet out of his backpack. Which in itself wasn't altogether unreasonable. The pamphlet thing, not the head bashing…well, he supposed that was sort of reasonable as well considering the circus carnival that had taken over his life. But the first thing, with the pamphlet, that was completely understandable even in the most normal of average-Joe, no-name, suburbia kind of circumstances. It had been a busy week. A busy, jarring week. Distracting, even. There was Puck and Mike’s future and his passion and his mother accepting him and his father's uncompromising disappointment and heartbreak and Tina and it _just_ sort of slipped his mind.

Which should be ridiculous right? That was red-flag item there, a rumor starter, racy material, just waiting to push buttons and destroy what very little reputation Mike had managed to build up for those few that acknowledged his existence.

He should have burned it. Or hidden it. Or burned it and then hidden the ashes, and then burned the hiding place a few days later, just to be sure. It never hurt to be thorough.

But instead Mike had forgotten, which was _completely_ reasonable. It wasn't like anybody ever poked through his backpack. He didn't have anything special. He wasn't like Brittany with her secret stash of fruity lip balms and candy bars and pixie sticks or Kurt with his multi-functional satchel that seemed to contain any and every tool necessary for the day-to-day life of a high profile fashionista (which somehow included a set of pliers and two rolls of fashion tape, whatever that was). Mike didn't _have_ anything worth snooping through and it wasn't like he ever bugged anyone enough for them to ever _want_ to go riffling through his backpack for whatever personal vendetta they had against him. He might become a bit…ridiculous when it came to dealing with Puck, but to everyone else had managed to keep it cool.

So really, what the hell?

What. The. Hell.

There had to be some sort of universal law that dictated that there was only so much misfortune and tomfoolery a person should have to endure in a week. There had to be _some…_ what was he, the world's punching bag? Some higher power out there was having some kind of rainy day and found that inspiring misery in certain well-adjusted dancers was the equivalent to a Zoloft? And in that case what had Mike done to deserve that? Could he undo it? He was willing. Come on, he had been willing to have sex with _Puck_ of all people, if that didn't scream desperation he didn't know what did.

Not that Mike had to be worried about that anymore.

Oh yes, Puck had finally seen the error of his ways.

Or he had gotten bored, or lazy, or grown as a person, but whatever the reason he just…stopped trying to win over the Asian Fusion (which was something Mike would be celebrating more if Tina wouldn't stop _whining_ about it). Mike had no idea what happened, but Puck was still his friend. They weren't as tight as they used to be, but it just…nothing. No questions, no comments, just nothing. No explanation, no mention of anything that happened over the summer or during Nationals or anything. They were back to being just bros.

Kurt seemed to be the most disappointed by this turn of events (well…aside from Zizes, who was _still_ hunting Mike down), muttering something about disposing of some elaborate double-dating plans (helping out of the goodness of his heart, Mike's _ass_ ) but aside from that everything seemed to be getting back to normal. Or, at least as normal as it could _get_ in Glee Club at McKinley High. It figured that the moment Mike caught the slightest hint of a break that the universe would come smashing down on his poor, pathetic noggin.

He should have burned that damn pamphlet.

And it wasn't just _anybody_ who found it.

Oh no, it wasn't one of his friends, or Mr. Schuester, or even Coach Beiste.

No, the world had something far greater for him in store.

Karofsky frowned at him, gripping the pamphlet between two fingers as though it could contaminate him with its unapologetic shininess.

How could this have happened? Football season was almost over, they were clearing out their lockers, everyone had already left. Mike only had his backpack open so he could cram the last of his gym clothes into it, how they _hell_ had Karofsky managed to find that damn pamphlet in the bulging mess? Mike could have sworn he tucked it into the bottom. It had been near the bottom right? Why the hell was Karofsky digging through his bag, _how_ did he manage to find the **_one_** _thing-?_

And the other teen was still expecting an answer, boldly holding up the glossy folded paper (as though Mike didn't know what he was about to get his faced smashed in about) and glaring and _glaring_ and-

"It's not mine," where the first words that came of Mike's mouth, and they were not very well received. Not that he had expected them to be, as it was becoming startlingly clear that he sucked at thinking on his feet. Hell, given a proper amount of time he _still_ didn't know how he would have approached this situation. It was a no-win scenario. Unless he had _not_ acted like a guilty-child caught in the act of stealing from the cookie jar, in which case Mike could have played it off as a tasteless prank, but his acting was far worse than his singing and by this point Karofsky wasn't going to buy that no matter how thick he laid it on.

There was some more glaring.

Mike swallowed nervously.

His mind continued to be blank.

What was he supposed to do anyway? How could this _not_ end up as the new school scandal? There was no conceivable damage control for this situation. Sure, Karofsky had backed off Kurt and started that Bully Whips thing, but that was just for publicity right? To show he'd turn over a new leaf so he could win Prom King. So maybe he _wouldn't_ punch Mike in the face but…oh God, what if Karofsky started following _him_ around? In that stupid beret with the walkie-talkies and the…that was _not_ what Mike needed. He needed to play it cool, to remain invisible, to…

To answer Karofsky's question some time before the football player lost his patience and ran to Jacob Israel and ruined Mike's life beyond repair.

That would probably require talking.

Like…with _words_ and stuff.

The dancer swallowed the lump in his throat and attempted to school his features into the dull, guy-in-the-background face of blankness that he had mastered so many years ago. It didn't quite fit on right, too much time with the glee club, too much individuality gained, but he at least managed to _not_ look like he feared his eminent and unpleasant demise. His insides were still ridiculously aware of the nerves attempting to consume his stomach, but at least his face wasn't _quite_ as pathetic as it had been.

Mike kept his eyes locked on Karofsky's, attempting to regain some ground.

"Intellectual curiosity," he explained. It was the closest to the truth he was willing to divulge to someone of Karofsky's particularly unfriendly temperament.

Dave's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline, mixed looks of disbelief and amusement etched into his features.

What? That was a completely reasonable explanation. Mike was an honor student for Christ's sake, straight A's, a scholar. So what, he wasn't allowed to be interested in things outside the scope of a normal heterosexual male of his age?

…nope, even in his head that did _not_ work out.

But instead of calling him out on it, or punching him in the face (which had not-happened long enough for Mike to begin to get hopeful), Karofsky decided to move on.

"Where did you get it?"

…

…

…

Aaaaaaaaand, no, that was _not_ where Mike had thought the hulking football player was going with this. In fact, that was so much _not_ what Mike had anticipated that his mouth did that talking thing again without conferring with his brain.

"Kurt," he blurted out unceremoniously.

As though it were possible the eyebrows ascended ever higher.

_Bad mouth._

_No cookie._

Karofsky tilted his head to the side, still holding the mocking pamphlet though his attention was completely on Mike.

Mike wished that it wasn't.

He kind've wished he was on the Moon right now. Anywhere but here.

And because Mike couldn't get anymore pathetic Karofsky recounted their very brief conversation, highlighting the epic _fail_ of it all.

"You got this from Kurt," he drawled, stepping forward in that menacing way that made Mike kind of wish Coach Sylvester hadn't given up stalking him because he could have really used a witness right about now. Mike slowly stepped to the side, trying to get in view of Coach Beiste's office.

Karofsky continued, unperturbed by his movement. "Because you were curious."

Mike gave a jerked nod, acting _sooooo_ completely natural. "Yep."

Karofsky stopped, and Mike's legs followed his lead, because they were kind of stupid like that.

Why wasn't his face experiencing less-than-pleasant fist smashings right now?

The eyebrows came down and Karofsky finally lowered the pamphlet. "Are you gay?"

Which was…asked a _lot_ nicer than Mike had thought it would be. It was legitimately serious. Not mocking at all. Reasonable even.

It seemed that whatever little…breakdown, school-down, de-bully _thing_ that Kurt and Santana worked on him had been successful.

Maybe Mike could still get out of this completely intact.

The dancer schooled his face again, this time being _much_ more successful at becoming serious. "No."

The eyebrows threatened to rise again, but Dave kept composed. "Bi?"

Mike sighed. " _No_."

The incredulous look came back this time, unhindered, and Mike felt his eye twitch, the first in a very short chain reaction that lead to that certain something inside of him, something that was probably very important, snapping under the stress and pressure of life.

By this point he should have learned to "hulk-out" in a closet or something, because yelling at other people, had _never,_ ** _ever_** worked out to his advantage.

But you know, when it came to social interaction Mike wasn't the fastest learner.

He snarled; face twisting into what had to be a very unpleasant expression. "What, is it because I'm a dancer? Because of Glee Club? What is it? Why the hell does everyone think I'm-?"

Karofsky held up the pamphlet again, but Mike just wretched it from his grasp, shoving it back into his backpack. "And why the hell were you digging through my backpack anyway? And why haven't you punched me in the face? And why do you care? And what does it matter? And why _won't you people just leave me_ ** _alone?!_** "

The tirade was over but that simmering amount of adrenaline was still working overdrive, rumbling under Mike’s skin, urging and begging for him to continue his course of action, to implement some kind of plan. The logical part of his brain happily informed him that he really needed Karofsky to _not_ ever talk about this again _ever_ , and while bribing and offering of personal servitude _might_ work, wouldn't it be so much _better_ to make this an occasion that Karofsky never wanted to talk about either? And hey, since he was in uncomfortable territories _anyway_ , why shouldn’t he just bulldoze through one of the other teen’s obvious triggers?

Mike did not do his best thinking when he was angry.

So kissing Karofsky probably wasn't the greatest idea in the world. It was practically suicide. He was surprised Dave allowed him close enough to let it happen. He sure as hell hadn't been expecting it. _Mike_ hadn't even been expecting it. It had just popped into his head and then _hey_ , he was grabbing a handful of Karofsky's shirt and smashing their faces together in a way that would most certainly qualify as sexual harassment. The _only_ thing that would put him in the clear was if he had managed to provoke Karofsky enough to punch him. Then they would both be even and they could forget about this unpleasant mess.

No need for this to go past today.

When his back was almost immediately slammed against the lockers Mike figured that despite the absurdity of his plan it would _actually_ work, which was a miraculous success considering his the track record of all other absurd plans.

He was in the free and clear.

Perhaps, dare he think it, winning.

When he was done that damn pamphlet would be history, he would not forget its evil a second time.

…Except he did. Just about seconds after he thought of it.

Because suddenly there was a hand up his shirt and another in his hair and he was being kissed so soundly that Tina was being put horribly to shame. And in the precious few seconds Mike spent processing that information the hand rose higher, tired of rubbing against his abs and seeking a much more… sensitive territory, and then he was gasping and then there was a tongue in his mouth and a thigh between his legs and when had the world become the twilight zone and was this a prank or a new game and if this was gay horse Karofsky had won already why where they still going and-

"Fellas."

The new voice was commanding enough that they immediately jolted apart, Karofsky smoothing out the bottom of Mike's shirt as though he had _not_ just been doing very naughty (dear _God_ did he just think the words Karofsky and _naughty_ in the same-? He was gonna be sick-) things before straightening up to his full height and acting remarkably casual while Mike was still kind of blubbering against the lockers, the blood rushing to his face with such ferocity that he was pretty sure his cheeks would be red _forever_.

To her credit, Coach Bieste seemed pretty unperturbed by the events she had discovered in her locker room. More annoyed than anything.

Oh God. Oh God Mike was dead, he had to be, he couldn't feel his _face_ \- this couldn't be happening, this _had_ to be backwards land- _what_ …

While he was dying Karofsky was just fine, looking completely unabashed.

The bastard.

Coach gave them a disapproving frown, and motioned to their backpacks.

"I don't care what you do on your down time, but take it somewhere else. I've gotta lock up for the night." She smiled, eyes fading out somewhat as she gazed into the distance. "I've got a date to get ready for."

Before Mike could sputter his rejection, that this was _not_ normal down-time procedure, Karofsky just nodded, snatched up their backpacks, thrusting Mike's against his chest before grabbing the dancer's wrist and hauling him out of the room. Rough but practical, Mike probably would have remained floundering in the locker room while his brain kept spouting off rejections of _"no"_ and _"stop"_ and _"noooooooooooooooooooooo"_. The other football player stopped after tracking a good way down the empty hall, Mike following along blindly, half-aware that this had to be what life felt like for Brittany. Except without the fear. Or maybe there was lots of fear and they just couldn't tell. Maybe she hid it. Did she need saving? Was she repressing her terror? Did she constantly go through life-?

"Chang."

Oh…he should probably be focusing on himself right now, since his existence was hanging at a very precarious balance and all.

Mike looked up slowly from his shoes, startled to see that he had been rather focused on the floor, and looked at Karofsky, who he would have said was just as casual as before were it not for the hardened glint in his eye.

Yes, they would be having words now.

His grip tightened on Mike's wrist. "This stays between us, got it?"

Mike nodded slowly, not flinching as the fingers threatened to bruise. Dave studied him for a minute before deciding that this was an acceptable response and let go, awkwardly readjusting the straps on his backpack while peaking up and down the hallway, checking to see if anyone had witnessed the exchange. Mike went back to staring at the floor before preparing to shuffle away, making a hasty retreat in an attempt to salvage _some_ of his dignity.

The only warning he got before he was kissed again was a hand sliding along the side of his face, ridiculously gentle considering…but he shouldn't judge should he? Maybe that was what had made Karofsky what he- how the hell could Mike think of a thing like that while-?

And then Dave pulled back and just as quickly moved away, turning and disappearing around the corner before Mike could get out so much as a " _Buh_ -"

…and it would have been a really great _"buh"_ to.

…

Holy shit he needed to talk to someone.

Which was difficult considering the fact that he had pretty much just sworn he would _not_ do that very thing.

… _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this I was all set for just following along with the series, so yes, Puck's going after Shelby now, but don't worry, eventually he'll get back to Mike.


	6. Set Fire To The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are good ways to dispose of something, and there are bad ways to dispose of something.
> 
> Mike's successfully figured out all the bad ways.
> 
> It's not something he's very proud of.

"What is this?"

In Mike's defense, not that it was all that important in the grand scheme of things, especially considering familiar implications, he had _not_ forgotten about the pamphlet this time.

No sir, _this_ time he had remembered the key to his social and personal undoing, the crack in the dam, his very own mini-apocalypse embodied in a cheerful three and half by eight inch booklet.

Innocent, but deadly.

_This_ time Mike had _not_ forgotten about it…and by that he meant that once he discovered it at the bottom of his backpack once he finally got around to unloading his dirty laundry he had not _ignored_ it. But the details were irrelevant. This time Mike did not let the issue fester. He decided to be proactive, to take his fate into his own hands, to stop being the universe's joke.

Setting it on fire hadn't been a bad plan. At least if you took into consideration what had brought the dancer to this point. Simply throwing it away or shredding it left too much evidence behind. And while Mike _had_ considered just giving it back to Kurt, that plan was nixed because it would have to stay in his backpack and apparently _that_ had become the treasure trove, hotspot place to dig through.

He would stop at nothing short of absolute destruction.

It was the only way.

Mike had thought he had picked a good time, before either of his parents got home, and he even had a legitimately safe set-up in his dad's charcoal barbeque. All he had to do was drop the frickin’ match (and _maybe_ just a few extra, just in case) and watch his life's worst McGuffin crumble into the harmless nothing that it should be.

As it could probably be guessed, he had not managed to get to the "drop the match" stage of his plan before fate had once more intervened in her cruel and fickle way.

He could _not_ catch a break.

If he had thought Karofsky finding the pamphlet was the end of the world, Mike had not anticipated what it would be like for his _father_ to discover it.

_Shoot me now_.

While he and his father's relationship had drastically improved since the older Chang had come to watch New Directions at Sectionals, Mike was pretty sure that his dad’s tolerance and understanding pretty much ended there. You could only expect _so_ much from a person. His parents had never really spoke about their opinions on homosexuality, but in Mike's eyes that neglect was enough to describe their stance on it. It didn't exist, should not be addressed, was irrelevant. Males were supposed to date respectable females for a certain amount of time, marry them, and start a family. Carry on the name, keep the bloodline strong.

It was inferred. It didn't _need_ to be said.

Mike blew out the match and dropped his hands to his side, keeping his eyes glued on anything but his father as the businessman pulled the grate away and picked up the pamphlet, eyebrows knitting as though he did not completely understand the writing on the front.

At least _this_ inevitable lecture was something he could support. Mike couldn't lie to his father, but he wouldn't give him the whole truth, couldn't honestly do that without loathing himself, hating what he had allowed Puck to do to him.

His father flipped it open and almost immediately closed it, throwing the pamphlet back down on the barbeque with suppressed distaste before turning to face Mike, face unreadable.

"Where did you get this?"

There was not point in hiding it.

"Kurt."

His father paused, perhaps to gather himself, and Mike swallowed, following his father's gaze as it flickered briefly over to the pamphlet. Then, just like that they were back on him. Completely focused.

Mike knew what question would be next.

Unfortunately he was not entirely sure how to answer it.

"Why?"

He didn't know.

He cleared his throat, darting his eyes to the ground momentarily, just giving himself a moment's reprieve from his father's stare.

"I was curious."

Mike wouldn't have taken the pamphlet otherwise and it wasn't like _"I might have needed to whore myself out"_ was that much better of an answer anyway.

"Curious," His father repeated, sounding occupied as his eyes looked off to the side. His tone was mostly unreadable, but if there was a hint of anything it was…confusion, maybe. Perhaps disappointment.

Before Mike could analyze it any further his father snapped his attention back to his wayward son, re-centered and focused.

"You were curious about _this_?" he elaborated, motioning to the content in question distastefully.

Mike nodded meekly, struggling not to start fidgeting under the oppressive stare.

It was a losing battle.

Disappointment, definite and undeniable sank into his father's features, hands curling at his sides in preparation for a solid lecture. One that was not to be ignored. Mike gripped the sides of his pants, fighting the urge to run-away. He sort of wished his dad would have just started yelling at him. That was a lot easier to deal with than the disappointment.

The disappointment stung.

But…hey, it wasn't like his dad was riffing on his lifestyle or anything. Mike wasn't actually gay. Sure, he had made out with one or two more males than could be possibly accepted by most heterosexual guys' standards…and sort of liked it (but who _didn't_ like making out? So long as both parties were of good hygiene it was awesome), but it wasn't…that was just a small part of Mike anyway. Instigated under extreme duress.

Nothing major.

His dad didn't hate anything major.

The disappointed stare reached its climax, complete with the sad eyebrows, and _'respect me'_ head…tiltings.

There was a sour feeling in Mike's stomach. Nothing to worry about though, it was a natural reaction to such lectures. Even if he wasn't in the wrong.

Nothing was wrong.

They would laugh about this later.

Mike took great pride in the fact that he didn't retreat as his father took a step forward, staring him down as though he were a young child again. Unwise, out-of-line, disrespected.

_Nothing_.

His father tilted his head to the side, as though he were finally registering things that were there, but he didn't want to see. His frown deepened.

"You were curious about this," He echoed, distaste, disappointment blatant in his tone as he dissected it for Mike. "And you are dating Miss Cohen-Chang."

He paused, waiting for Mike's explanation, which would have to wait a good couple seconds while the dancer attempted to figure out what part of the conversation he had gotten lost in.

So…his father was upset.

Okay, he got that.

Angry dad, undeniable. Clear for everyone to see.

But instead of being angry about…well, what the pamphlet _inferred_ …

He was upset because Mike was…leading Tina along?

Was that it?

Sure, it had started off rocky at first but Tina had won her way into his parent's hearts. Talking to his dad without him, keeping Mike in Glee, in the musical, sending out applications _for_ him when he had all but given up on his dreams…

Tina was amazing, undeniably so. His parents could see that. They could tell that despite her off-putting attire Tina was truly one-of-a-kind, a great girlfriend who genuinely cared about him.

And in his father's eyes Mike was doing a great injustice to her. Basically lying to her face.

But _that_ was something he could argue.

Which he went about by allowing his mouth to blurt out the first thing it felt inclined to let tumble out. "She knows about it."

And now he could get a feeling of what _his_ confused face looked like, because his father was totally there, completely taken aback by Mike's response. Now he was digesting it, trying to reason it out ( _good luck with that one_ ) and while he was occupied Mike was going to think of a better way to go about this. On the bright side he probably won Tina like, eighteen more brownie points for being kind enough to help out her poor ole' confused boyfriend. Supporting him even through _this_.

"She encourages it, actually."

Mike hadn't realized he'd said it out loud until he was graced with a look similar to his _"What the hell do those words mean/you're crazy/seriously, what the hell?"_ face, except from his _dad_ and was barraged with a fierce attack of coughs masking the laughter he had to choke down.

Maybe he could chalk this up as a generation gap…discrepancy thing. Wait, it would be better not to address anything unless his father specifically brought it up.

No need to scar the man.

Time to bring it home.

"I wasn't going to go through with it though," Mike explained quietly, not bothering to expand on the 'it' he was referring to. "That's why I…"

He trailed off, motioning to the grill. After a brief pause his father nodded slowly, a look of understanding crossing his features.

Mike took great thanks in the obvious lack of hate and disappointment.

"Michael, I…" his father stopped, thinking, searching for the appropriate words, though Mike was unsure what he could possibly say now.

A _"We're cool"_ would be nice, but Mike almost certain that was out of the question.

His father continued, not quite as absolute as he normally was. "If ever you were to…" he trailed off, jerking his head in the direction of the discarded pamphlet, and Mike froze a little, inside. "Your mother and I," he looked Mike straight in the eye. "We would support you, no matter what."

Like it was just that simple.

And it was, clearly, just that simple.

Mike didn't know what to say, even now with practice he wasn't the best with words. So he just nodded.  A feeling - gratitude, it had to be - welling inside.

Relieved to know that no matter _what_ he did, his parents would always be there for him. And if a stupid pamphlet was what got his dad to actually _say_ that, Mike supposed that he could maybe hate Puck a little less for his contributions in life.

Mike would consider this one a win.

…now all he had to do was figure out how to handle everything on the Karofsky front.

…

Well, _damn_.

No, it wasn't a problem. It would merely be a challenge.

Suck it world, Mike Chang was going to take control of his life. Starting with Dave.

Hell, compared to this, how hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short? Definitely.
> 
> Necessary? Maybe.
> 
> Relevant? Perhaps.
> 
> Did I want to write it? Yes.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos :)


	7. Soup For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike has a long-awaited conversation. And then he freaks out some.
> 
> Sort of seems like his ritual, nowadays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karofsky might be a little OOC in this, but in a good way, I think.

Let the record show that nonchalantly trying to visually-stalk someone in a crowded hallway was very hard to do. Stealth-mode wasn't exactly Mike's specialty; so far his attempts at being subtle usually ended with him whirling about spastically to pretend to take up the _oh_ -so natural activity of staring at the wall whenever Karofsky so much as tilted his head in the dancer’s general direction. He knew he wasn't doing well. Rory and Sam (who was back, by the way, with no one questioning _why_ ) had taken to following Mike around to see what the hell was so fascinating on McKinley's dented lockers, and with Brittany quickly joining their escapade Mike's stealth mission was beginning to look more and more like a lost tour group that were being scammed for all they were worth.

Great, Artie and Kurt had just joined in. Fan-freaking- _tastic_.

It was days like this where Mike wished he had stolen Puck's spy camera. Mike hadn't been pleased when he discovered that it had recorded their first… _rendezvous_. Sure, the footage was ultimately deleted and the tool locked away to prevent future damages, but he should have just taken it. Think of all the good it could have done, in the proper hands.

Finn and Rachel floated over, arm-in-arm from their happy world of sunshine and eagerly joining in Kurt's enthralling discussion on the provocative nature of this water stain as compared to _that_ one, how it represented the _blah-de-blah-de-blah-blah-blah_ and Mike began edging away from the group, hoping to still be able to get back to tailing Karofsky. He wanted to intercept him before he got to his car, find a good place to corner him and do that talking thing before the dancer’s brain exploded into a thousand gooey pieces to decorate the surrounding area. Now _that_ would be something worth looking at.

Mike was almost around the corner, taking each step slow and deliberate. Carefully, thoughtfully, not sporadic and loud and overdramatic…y. He was a leaf in the wind and if they wanted to be deeply enthralled with discussing the deeper meanings of extracurricular activity poster arrangements who was he to stop their fun? He wasn't a party-pooper, he was Mike Chang. Laid back, awesome, cool- no, scratch that, _super_ cool, and he was just going to nonchalantly walk this way as though he had _not_ inspired a bunch of people to stare at a wall and-

"Dude," the voice came from right beside his ear, Puck leaning over his shoulder in subdued fascination. "What are they looking at?"

Puck stared at him expectantly, not at all bothered by how much of Mike's personal bubble he was violating. Chest to back, hand on shoulder while he gave the glee club a confused look from the other one, Mike kind of wanted to sucker punch him for how freaking oblivious he was. He was a guy, and Mike was a guy, and he was _trying_ to re-assert his heterosexuality (you know, as much as he could while chasing down that guy he once made out with) and Puck wasn't helping.

The dancer pulled away, shucking the other teen’s hand off his shoulder as casually as possible.

"Nothing," he bit out just before completely ducking around the corner and speeding away. In a very manly fashion.

That was him, machismo incarnate.

Mike hadn't wasted too many brain cells on Puck lately but after the sudden disinterest in the Asian Fusion and Zizes, and then that "Hot for Teacher" number he just _had_ to do, added with the looks he had been throwing at Mrs. Corcoran, Mike had the unsettling feeling that Puck had decided to go for the overall grand supreme title of stupid decision making. One that would definitely involve some form of official harassment charges being made. Mike wanted to be concerned, he _did_ , but…well, Puck wasn't his problem anymore. The mohawked teen had decided that for him. And Mike wasn't bitter about it, or had feathers ruffled or any ill-feelings he just…

He'd look into it later. Puck was still his friend after all. He'd take a break and _then_ jump back into the crazy world of Noah Puckerman and try to instigate a semblance of order. Keep the guy out of jail. It was the least Mike could do. After everything that had happened.

Once you hunt for an accordion in New York with a guy you were sort of bonded. To insanity, at the very least.

As soon as the sounds of his friends disappeared behind him Mike took off in a sprint, aiming towards the back parking lot where Karofsky’s truck was located. That detour hadn't cost him too much time; there was still a chance that he could make it. Worse comes to worse he could just throw himself in the front of Karofsky's vehicle and hope the guy's instinct to avoid jail time would kick in fast enough to keep Mike's pedestrian ass safe. Because that didn't scream desperate. Or confused. _Damn_ , Mike was confused, sort of, though in retrospect Karofsky liking guys made a lot of his past actions understandable. Not reasonable, because they weren't by any means, it just meant that there was some kind of human motivation involved that wasn't just the need to revel in other's anguish. Dave had seen what Kurt had gone through and refused to allow it to happen to him, choosing to play as offensively as possible to ensure that he would stay safe.

Mike had to hand it to him, it worked _really_ freaking good. He hadn't suspected this in a million years. And the fact that he and Santana had dated _also_ made more sense and-

A hand latched onto his shoulder and yanked him into an empty classroom, lights dim, but Mike didn't need them to know that Karofsky had figured him out from his terrible attempts at reconnaissance and decided to provide a more appropriate location for talking. Unless he wanted to take back his initial reaction and start making Mike's face a lot more bruised and unpleasant, in which case he should probably start curling into the fetal position about right now.

"Chang," Karofsky greeted tersely, studying the dancer carefully.

"Dave," Mike replied, far more aloofly than he felt, shrugging a hand off his shoulder the second time that day and resisting the urge to rub it, knowing it would be sore later. No wincing. Now was not the time to show signs of weakness. Also, wetting himself should be avoided. It was difficult to have a mature and thoughtful conversation with soiled pants. Didn't really give off the safe and assured vibe.

There was a thoughtful silence where Karofsky continued to study him, any anger overruled by curiosity, like Mike was some sort of new species or something.  He reached out again, gently rubbing Mike's abused shoulder muscles. An apology of sorts.

Mike shuffled his feet, trying to hide his nerves. It was weird, Karofsky treating him like this.

"Sorry," Dave mumbled, staring at the sore spot.  Mike shrugged, shaking his head in silent forgiveness. He wasn't sure if he could get his mouth to work again. His tongue was tangled up in knots, ungracefully hindering his already lacking conversational skills.

_Damn it._

Karofsky stepped closer, kneading the tender spot and brought his other hand up slowly, tracing along the side of Mike's face like he had done that one time, back then, when he had _kissed_ him and-

Shit, his feet weren't working, what was he supposed to do? Yeah, he could admit Karofsky was a great kisser but he had a girlfriend and he wasn't gay and leading Karofsky to think that he _was_ wouldn't end well for _anyone_ but Mike was probably past the point of no return _anyway_ because Dave probably wouldn't take too well to _"Sorry I kissed you, big misunderstanding, hope you don't mind"_ thing and agree to keep quiet about it, and he really _was_ a good kisser, even if he was a guy, and Mike was a guy, but lets face it he had sucked face with Puck enough times for his libido to get past that little hurtle with flying colors. What should he do? Think, _damnit_ , there _had_ to be options. Options other than panicking. _What should he do?_ This wasn't bad, but Mike wasn't a whore, but maybe he should be one because _then_ he wouldn't get his face smashed in and Tina liked it when he made out with guys anyway so why not just invite Dave to a threesome and everyone could get out healthy and happy and Mike's mind wouldn't implode on itself from lightspeed nerve influx and did he even _not_ _want_ to kiss Karofsky, because if he really didn't he would have put up a bigger fight by now, but it's _Karofsky_ , and _-_

"Figures." a voice called from the direction of the door, grinding his train of thought to a screeching halt. "I knew you had to get your new squeeze from somewhere. Why else would you dump Puckerman like a pile of rotting garbage?"

Mike paled and held still, as though that would render him invisible to the naked eye.

… _oh no._

Oh no, oh fricking _god_ no, not her, not with _him_ , not _now_ -

But Zizes was never one to be deterred, not by him, not by Puck and certainly not by the likes of Karofsky and she entered their hollowed ground with a confident swagger that could only be portrayed by someone who had completely owned up to who they were as a person. Someone who had never lost a fight and never intended to.

She studied them carefully, eyes narrowing as though there was anything else she could discern from their compromising position. She shut the door and reclined against it, cocky smile in place like she now held the secrets of the universe. A grand master inspecting two unsuspecting pupils. It was their move, and she waited. Allowing the anticipation to build.

Strangely enough Mike hadn't been shoved away like he had thought he would. It wasn't like Karofsky was struck dumb or anything, he was surprised, but he played to win too. He lowered his hand away from Mikes face but kept the other on his shoulder, refusing to back away. He didn't own up to what his previous intentions had been, trying to show that he didn't scare easy. A big step, considering what he had done to Kurt. This had to be far worse for him than it could ever possibly be for Mike.

Mike had dealt with the evil of Zizes before.

The hand that gripped his shoulder was shaking, slight and almost imperceptible, but there.

God, he was such an asshole for dragging Dave into this. He should have just paid his debt and gotten Zizes off of his back, even if she hadn't earned it.

Dave cleared his throat, getting back into character, as Rachel would say. Transforming from the Dave that could be gentle to the Karofsky that dumped slurpies on people just because it was Tuesday.

He cocked his head to the side, casual, and glared at Zizes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Good, pretty intimidating, considering how they'd been caught, but it was all for nothing. Lauren didn't pay the taller jock any attention, she just continued as though she had never stopped talking.

"Oh," she whispered innocently, tapping the side of her chin, attention completely on Mike.  "That's right. He dumped _you_. So…" she trailed off, eyeing Karofsky with evilest, most self-satisfied grin ever possible. "He your rebound?"

Dave tensed, hand gripping hard again, and Mike's mind raced to try to put up a reasonable defense before Karofsky decided that Mike’s freak-out in the locker room was the result of bad feeling from a break-up. That Mike had used him (though he hadn't _known_ , couldn't that be an excuse?). But he needed to satisfy Zizes and keep Karofsky on his good side and he was _really_ missing gentle-giant Dave because at least _that_ guy made him feel safe, which seemed ridiculous, but it was true-

"We weren't dating."

_Woah_ …his mouth decided to step up to the plate, actually putting up a solid and strong sounding argument while his head was busy running in circles. Good mouth, you can have a cookie this time.

Or maybe soup, it was a healthier choice.

Zizes raised a dubious eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his progress. "You were willing to have sex with him."

The hand tightened some more, leaving definite bruising, but Mike kept his eyes on Zizes. "To get him to leave me _alone_."

It was all in the details.

The building pressure on his arm immediately subsided, and Dave leaned into his line of vision, half-hiding looks of concern. Like he wanted to be but just couldn't show it.

"Is he bothering you?" he asked, throwing occasional angry glares at Zizes to establish that he was still the alpha male. For the most part she just looked amused.

Finding that his tongue had once more decided to be uncooperative, Mike shook his head slowly, taken away by the sudden change into nice-Dave and trying not to be overwhelmed by the fact that nice-Dave was…kind've nice.

_Focus Chang_.

This was not the time to be sidetracked.

Gagging noises come from the direction of the door, and Zizes rolled her eyes at them, clearly having found that this conversation no longer held anything of interest to her.

"Whatever, do what you want Changster." She paused with her hand on the doorknob, giving Karofsky an appraising look. "Your over-gooey love is too disgusting to talk about," she declared, and immediately left, leaving the two jocks blinking in surprise.

That was as close to a _"Your secret's safe with me"_ as they were ever going to get.

For Karofsky's peace of mind, Mike explained this.

"She won't tell anyone."

Dave blinked, clearly jolted out of a steady thought process as he stared at the door, and Mike found himself the focus of those damn hazel eyes again.

Wait, since when did he know what color Dave's eyes were?

Thankfully _his_ train of thought was interrupted by an inquisition from Karofksy, the taller jock going back to rubbing the sore spot on his shoulder. "You and Puck?" he asked, tilting his head to the side casually.

Mike flushed, trying not to fidget again, and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor. "It's a long story."

He didn't expect much past that, maybe that they would say their awkward goodbyes, or try for a reschedule or call a time out or something, but when Mike looked back up Dave was just studying him carefully, more open and relaxed than Mike had ever seen him before.

He guessed that was what happened when you finally got to own up to everything you were.

"Tell it to me," he offered, genuinely wanting to know.

And for the life of him, Mike couldn't find a way to deny his request.


	8. Seeing The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dave's help, Mike manages to come to some rather startling conclusions.
> 
> Well...startling to *Mike*.
> 
> Everyone else has pretty much figured it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah…this chapter actually has like…angst and feelings and stuff.
> 
> I know, weird.

"…and _now_ I'm pretty sure he's trying to go after Mrs. Corcoran, which makes sense because it's a terrible idea and that's sort of Puck's standard and…yeah, that's about it."

Mike neglected to mention the _"except that time I kissed you"_ part of this tale because Dave could see that hadn't been wrapped up yet.

A short moment of silence followed the winding down of his tale and Mike stopped looking at the ceiling and turned towards Karofsky, only to be met by a look of innocent confusion. Sort of like the ones Finn constantly seemed to sport except…uh…cuter. And that wasn't an opinion, Mike's pretty sure that would be a majority consensus. But back to the matter at hand.

Dave stared at him, head tilted (or as much as it could be tilted as they were lying on the ground) and scrunched his eyebrows in thought.

"Your life's a lot more screwed up than I thought it would be."

Mike smiled; stupid, he knew, but it felt really nice to have someone _else_ validate that fact.

"I _know_ ," he exclaimed, tapping his fingers against the floor, the nervous energy that had been plaguing him finally relieved with what he thought might be like… _contentment_. Comfort, happiness, zero stress. Such a foreign but wonderful mistress.

He had missed her.

If someone had told him this morning that he would end up recounting his entire experience with Puck from New York to present to _Karofsky_ , lying side-by-side in the abandoned costume room behind the auditorium while not only _not_ being met with physical harm but experiencing some form of closure Mike would have called them a crazy person. And _then_ he would have had them carted off to the loony bin to keep the rest of society safe from their delusions because it just _couldn't_ happen. But here they were, and here _he_ was, and everything was okay, and for once in a really long time he felt really, genuinely happy.

And you know what? He didn't _care_ how he had gotten here, he really didn't. Mike was just going to live in the moment and enjoy it for all it was worth.

There was a small tap on the side of his arm and he looked back over, Karofsky trading in his look of befuddlement for that of curiosity.

Mike knew where he was going.

"And you kissed me because…?"

Mike shrugged his head bashfully, suddenly weighed down with guilt. "I thought you would just punch me in the face or something and then I could use that to blackmail you into keeping quiet about the pamphlet." He resisted the urge to flinch at how much worse it sounded out loud, far worse than it had been in his head, and he waited for the inevitable explosion that was to follow. _How dare he? Who did he think he was?_ _I'll show_ ** _you_** _blackmail!_

When his ears were met with no such accusations Mike peaked his eyes open, shocked to see that instead of outrage or indignation Dave just looked…guilty.

The bigger jock swallowed and looked back at the ceiling. "I suppose that's fair enough."

The guilt multiplied exponentially, drowning him, and Mike's mind raced for what to say. Because it _shouldn't_ have been a fair enough assumption, or it could have, _before_ , but this new-Dave…well, this new-Dave was his friend. And Mike took care of his friends. He didn't want them to feel bad for past mistakes (even big ones, because they already knew) and he sure as hell didn't want to be the cause of any of their sorrows.

Maybe Mike was a softy, he could admit that. He had a hard time hating people. Yeah, exasperation and annoyance he could muster, but at the end of the day he couldn't really hold a grudge unless he was given constant motivation to do so. And since Karofsky was no longer playing the "bad guy", there wasn't any point in treating him as such.

Mike reached out and put a comforting hand on Dave's shoulder, much like the jock had done before for him, and waited for him to turn back.

"No," he murmured, once he had the other teen’s attention. "It wasn't."

Mike had a lot of experience being "the quiet guy". He had spent a majority of the first two years of high school staying off everyone's radar by just keeping to himself. Never vocalizing. But that didn't mean he didn't watch.

Being a silent observer had made him adept at reading body language, the things people didn't say but expressed so _very_ loudly. Clearly Dave knew it too, had enough experience from only showing select portions of himself to read what other people were hiding. Strange, how Mike had never noticed it before, but it allowed them their own silent communication. Words they wouldn't have to say.

_It's okay_ , Mike said.   _Everyone makes mistakes._

And in return, _Thank you_.

Before the moment could turn awkward Mike let go of Dave's arm, both teens staring back at the ceiling to move forward with the conversation.

"So," Mike began, clearing his throat. "What do you think?"

Aside from, _"Damn, you guys are crazy."_

Mike sort of already knew that.

"Well…" Dave trailed off thoughtfully, building up the anticipation. "I'm pretty sure you're bi."

_And…_

Nope, Mike couldn't really argue with him. He had enjoyed making out with one too many guys for him to deny it.

"Alright," the dancer conceded, not feeling as shaken up as he probably should have upon discovering such a life-changing thing. Mike had already subconsciously acknowledged it; he had just never really… addressed it. He was pretty sure Tina knew. There were these looks she kept throwing him.

Dave wasn't thrown by his complacency, if anything he looked a little envious, and quickly moved on. "I also think that you like Puck." He paused, looking at Mike meaningfully. "Like, _a lot_."

Well, _clearly_ someone hadn't been listening to Mike’s stories very well, and the dancer expressed this with the most disbelieving, surprised look he could muster because clearly, _clearly_ he didn't…he wasn't…

Nope, he just couldn't complete that thought. He didn't want to.

Karofsky met his overdramatic facial expressions with a look of patience. "No one else gets to you as much as he does."

Mike refrained from making his _"no shit"_ face and instead tried to explain just how _wrong_ Dave was.

"Because he treated me like _crap_."

Which was normally why people got mad at other people.

The patient look intensified.

Mike sort of wanted to hit it.

Dave moved on. "And I used to slushy you every Wednesday but you don't yell at me."

Because he usually had burly, over-muscled backup and it didn't really bother Mike _all_ that much.

But those were just details; Mike stuck to the matter at hand.

"You weren't my friend," he greatly emphasized _weren't_. "Puck _is;_ he's supposed to treat me nice."

Karofsky gave him a look of appreciation for his reassurance and moved on, wanting to stay on topic. "But he didn't."

"Exactly!" Mike exclaimed, starting to sit up. He couldn't handle this lying down, it was too…un-relaxing. Ruining that good feeling from earlier.

Dave quickly followed him, resting his hands on his knees as he quietly murmured, "Maybe that says something for him."

Mike stilled, wanting to laugh. Wanting to…he didn't even know, because it was absurd, and wrong, just beyond _wrong_.

He shared that much with Karofsky. "You're wrong, you're just…wrong."

When he looked back over Dave had his game face on, no longer willing to be the patient listener, and Mike sat back, nervous for the sudden transformation.

He didn't know what would happen next.

"Really?" the other teen asked, leaning forward, still friendly but taking on a _'now you listen here'_ vibe. "Because you were willing to make out with him just to improve your relationship." Mike cringed, wanting to explain himself because it _wasn't_ _like_ _that_ , but Dave waved a silencing hand. "Most people don't do that. Most people would see that it wasn't worth their time." And Mike wanted to object, he really did, but it was true, and he still couldn't figure out why he didn't, because it wasn't just for Glee, it wasn't-

Dave lowered his voice, no bullshit, no holding back. Like he knew it hurt, but it had to be said. "I don't think it was a pride thing, I don't think you did it for respect, I think you did it because you legitimately _like_ him and the easiest way to handle that was to blame it on any and everything _else_."

The words hung in the air awkwardly, striking them both hard because it was true.

It wasn't just a hypothesis or a maybe, it was life experience, something Karofsky had probably never admitted but wanted Mike to learn from, and he was shocked and it hurt because…because…

Mike liked Puck.

And it wasn't just that he liked a guy, it was just… _Puck_.

Puck, of all the freaking…he was an idiot! Sure, he had his moments were he actually managed to be a decent enough human being but then he would ruin those redeeming qualities the next _second_ by trying to spike the punch bowl or trying to steal an atm or _trying to hit on a teacher_. He was unapologetically stupid, completely disregarded common sense, had questionable priorities, barely motivated-

But he was also funny and loyal (past transgressions aside), and _willing_ to do the right thing. He was supportive of his friends, tried his damndest even when the odds weren't in his favor, and had been confident enough when he approached Mike and Matt those three years ago to make the dancer _want_ to join Glee Club.

Puck, as much as Mike would like to deny it, was the guy who was mostly responsible for making him who he was today.

Mike rubbed the side of his head, thrown by the sudden epiphany, but then was struck with another thought. Or maybe that was the wrong word for it, more like a gut feeling, an unaddressed fact, the lurking reason as to why-

Because Puck _didn't_ care about him. At _all_.

Not like…not _that_ way. And he probably never would. Whatever voodoo magic that had worked itself between the mohawked teen and Zizes just did _not_ exist for Mike, and real feelings, with Puck, would _never_ be there.

That's what hurt the most. That's what made Mike's head spin. Not being bi, or acknowledging Puck, just…

It was easy to be mad at Puck for being thoughtless or being rude or being an inconsiderate jerk because those reasons were universally justified. Everyone could see it made sense. No one could argue Mike's right to be angry because it was supported. He had reasons; everyone could see them, plain and undeniable. But with this…with what Mike had _really_ been feeling…

He was mad because deep down he had already accepted the fact that Puck just didn't care. And that…that hurt. So Mike lashed out, comically, over-zealously, without any real guide because at least he was getting the emotions out. They weren't bundled up anymore, an ever-pressing weight against his chest. Though it never really helped, at the end of the day.

And even when he actually _got_ what he wanted it was lost in almost an instant.

Because in Puck's world Mike was just a pretty set piece. Nice to look at, but easily exchangeable.

And here Mike had thought his life was pretty drama-free. Not completely, but compared to his classmates…

How wrong he had been.

He must have started to look pretty shaken because there was a hand on his arm, gently pulling him back to the land of the living, and Karofksy's face hovered into view soon after.

"Are you alrig-?"

"Karofsky!"

The other jock didn't get a chance to finish as a new voice interrupted, loud and urgent, and immediately they were both on edge, even though Mike didn't really need to be.

Sam was his friend, after all.

Mike wasn't sure how the blond found them, or why (and he supposed it didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things), but his fellow glee-clubber had his defensive face on, clearly assuming from Mike's disposition that Dave was up to no good.

Mike tried to intervene before things got out of hand.

"It's fine," he hurriedly assured, addressing both Sam's immediate concern and Dave's previous.  He held up a calming hand, hoping that Sam didn't come looking for a fight.

It didn't seem to help much.

"It's not fine," Sam spat out, angry, protective even (Mike had really missed Sam, had forgotten, tried to push the hurt he had from losing him like he did with Matt) and glared at Karofsky who had quickly risen from the floor. "What the hell did he do?"

As he moved to stand between them Mike grabbed his shoulder, a poor attempt at trying to soothe him.

This was not going well.

Dave was starting to slip into his Karofsky mode, seemingly angry, but Mike could tell he was panicking. "I didn't do-"

Mike cut him off.  "Sam, I'm _fine_. Look at me." He gestured to his body, extending his arms and turning them for full visual access. "No damage."

Sam still looked skeptical, and behind him Dave was hiding a look of hurt, anger with himself, and Mike promised to talk to him about it later but for now…

"I'm okay," he promised, staring the blond dead in the eye.

So Mike wasn't…not entirely _okay_ , not by a long shot, but Sam couldn't do anything about it so there wasn't any point bemoaning that fact.

And just like that Sam relaxed, hackles descended as he rocked back on his heels, muttering, "Oh."

He frowned, and then blinked in surprise, as though finally becoming aware of their surroundings. "Why are you guys-?"

Dave tensed, but Mike easily took over and smoothed out the wrinkles. It was the least we could do.

"We talk, sometimes," he explained, and when Sam gave him an incredulous look he just shrugged. Mike was an easy going guy. Forgiving. Sam knew that.

He also knew that not everyone would be as accepting of new-Dave as Mike was, and the rest of the pieces fell together accordingly, making further conversation unnecessary.

At least, Mike hoped.

You could never really tell with Sam.

Mike decided to be proactive and cut off any other questions with one of his own. "And why are you…?"

Sam blinked, back from whatever daydream he had entered, and tilted his head bashfully. "It's raining; I was going to borrow an umbrella."

The uneasiness was from the fact that the area that normally held umbrellas was conspicuously empty. Mr. Schuester must be trying out a new organization system or something. Or maybe Mrs. Pillsbury.

There was some shuffling beside them and then Karofsky was holding out an umbrella, bored look on his face to cover up his nerves. Sam wouldn't pick up on it, but Mike could tell he was fearing rejection.

"Just take mine," he muttered, and when Sam continued to stare at him in confusion he handed it over to Mike, who in turn delivered it to Sam.

The blond stared at it blankly.

"Uh…thanks," he finally replied.

Karosky focused on zipping up his backpack. "Don't mention it."

In this case he probably meant that.

They were done now, all of them, the quiet contemplation from earlier finished as they slowly began to trudge out the door, each occupied with their own thoughts. Sam was probably celebrating his umbrella but pondering the meaning behind it. Karofsky was probably thrown by how freaking _weird_ Mike's life was and Mike…

He needed…he needed to talk to someone. He needed…

Tina.

He needed to talk to Tina. She would be able to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had to get here some time, didn't we?
> 
> Also...I'm thinking Karofsky/Sam. Yes, this definitely seems like a thing that must be done.


	9. No One Likes Your Umbrella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam decides to do some not-so-productive brainstorming of his own, and Mike seeks out some much needed guidance from Tina.
> 
> About damn time, honestly.

The umbrella meant something, Sam just knew it, something beyond a peace offering or a gesture of goodwill or an attempt at an apology (five slushies too many, Sam would need a lot more than one loaned umbrella before Karofsky's comeuppance would be satisfied). This umbrella, plain black and unsuspecting, it _meant_ something. Sam had it drying out on the bathroom floor as he inspected it from the doorjamb of the room he and Finn shared. It hadn't done anything yet, like blow up, and Sam had already checked it for some kind of secret spy camera (the one Puck had used had been pretty cool, but Mike had seen to its permanent retirement) and it had come out clean. Sam would keep it in a separate room though, just in case. No need to invite misfortune on them needlessly.

He should have known that, even after a semester's absence, Mike's issues wouldn’t have gone away. Sam was hoping (vainly, pathetically, but still hoping) that, after the voodoo-candle-intervention thing during the summer, the dancing Asian's problems had all been sorted out. It wasn't an unfair assumption to make. All the email's Mike had sent him since Sam had moved had only contained amusing stories about Rachel and Mercedes having diva-offs and Blaine joining the New Directions and Artie directing the musical. Happy things that were just funny enough to make Sam laugh without keeping him stuck on how much he missed them.

But this…yeah, it figured. Not the thing were Mike still had problems because let's face it, when you joined New Directions you were pretty much guaranteed a life of unusual issues, but the keeping-it-to-himself part.  That was _way_ Mike. Sharing just wasn't his thing. Despite the events of the past summer Mike didn't really like conflict, especially conflict that was centered around him. So instead of addressing it or calling for back up or like, telling his _friends_ he was in trouble Mike just kept it to himself, not wanting to bother them.

Which was ridiculous and stupid, because it wasn't like he ever demanded much (okay so that business with Zizes hadn't been the easiest thing to get through, but at least it had been entertaining right?), it wasn't like it would have taken a lot. But Mike was stubborn, which was frustrating. It was why it had taken three weeks before Kurt and Sam, followed shortly by Tina, Mercedes, and Artie, had realized that Azimio had taken to singling out Mike every day between sixth and seventh period for slushy practice. It was one of the few times the dancer was forced to walk alone and they probably wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren't for Kurt finally realizing that Mike was consistently wearing different clothes during lunch and glee rehearsal. And even after pointing out _that_ little fact it had taken the tell-tale slushie stains on his socks before Mike cracked and told them what had been happening.

Yeah, see, Mike would rather go through the trouble of packing a spare set of clothes _everyday_ than tell his friends when he had problems. Except for when it had to do with Puck, at least that first time.

Sam had the distinct feeling that whatever Mike's new problems were, they somehow involved the mohawked football player. Though if that was the case Sam was wondering why he hadn't been dragged out of his house in the middle of the night yet.

It was troubling, because Mike had issues and didn't want help from Sam, or he didn't want to bother Sam, or whatever his reasoning, he wasn't involving Sam.

Which was fine and, on a distinctly unrelated note, stupidly girly to obsess over.

So Sam wasn't.

But then there was this thing, this _tiny, little_ ** _thing_** that kept bugging him. And while staring at the umbrella might eventually give him some answers, Sam knew if he wanted something a little more concrete he was probably going to have to talk to someone. Someone who wasn't Mike.

The umbrella continued to do nothing and Sam glared at it, hating not knowing what it meant. Hating it because it meant that he _didn't_ know.

And Karofsky _did_.

So he and Mike were friends, Sam could understand that…kind've. Well, given time he could. Karofsky had reformed himself, no more bullying (to Kurt), no more hate (to Kurt), and no more…well no, that was about it. And Mike, being the good guy he was, had taken that for what it was worth and befriended the guy, because that was what Mike did. He was forgiving, even when he shouldn't be (Sam had the memory of a black eye that urged the fact he _shouldn't_ be).

So Mike and Karofsky were friends, and they talked. Where no one could find them, but they talked.

…about important stuff.

Important stuff Sam didn't get to know about, stuff that was bothering Mike ( _his_ friend), and he didn't get to know, but Karofsky, the guy who threatened to _kill_ Kurt, _did_.

And that was _not_ cool.

Sam hoped Karofsky had gotten freakin' _soaked_ in that rainstorm.

"Dude, what's with the glaring face?"

Enter Finn, fresh from a make-out with Rachel, probably, snacking on an apple that his mother wouldn't be happy about ruining his appetite. He unceremoniously flopped onto his bed, munching loudly.

Sam didn't bother looking at him as he continued his self-appointed task of glaring like it was his only job in life.

"Karofsky lent me his umbrella."

Behind him he heard the quarterback sit up a little straighter, apple forgotten as he processed Sam's words.

"What?"

Sam kept his eyes locked on offending object, hoping to glare it into nothingness.

"It was rainingand I needed an umbrella and he lent me one. Well, technically he lent it to Mike," he paused, calling a temporary cease fire while he tried to work out the details. "I think."

It wasn't like it mattered; _he_ was the one who was going to have to return the thing.

Finn abandoned his position on the bed and walked up behind him, leaning against the door frame. "What was Mike doing there?"

He stared down at Sam, concerned, more for Mike than Sam's growing agitation and waited for his answer. Like _Sam_ knew all the details.

Clearly he didn't.

The blond scoffed. "Apparently he and Karofsky talk."

And apparently he and Sam _didn't_. Not about slushies or new-Puck problems or Karofsky.

When the hell had Karofsky come into the picture?

Unbothered by Sam's bitter tone, Finn moved on, keeping focused on the conversation. "Why'd Karofsky lend you his umbrella?"

How the hell would he know?

Sam sighed, not pouting because guys didn't pout, he didn't care what Santana and Quinn said.

"I don't know."

He frowned, realizing that Finn wasn't quite as up-to-date as he was, and remedied this fact. "I think something's wrong with Mike."

"And Karofsky-"

"I think Karofsky knows." Sam hoped the stupid ex-bully didn't abuse his stupid knowing-things power that he didn't deserve. He also pondered the ramifications of butchering said ex-bully's umbrella.

He could always claim it was an accident.

Finn's confusion multiplied, which didn't really help because between the two of them they could easily take being confused to a level of mastery that Brittany could only _hope_ to attain.

"You don't know?"

Sam didn't sulk about this.

"No," he murmured, wrapping his arms around his knees.

Finn continued, "And Karofsky does."

Sam continued not to sulk.

" _Yes_."

The leader of New Directions frowned, not paying Sam's moping any attention, not that Sam was moping.

He _wasn't_.

"Why would Karofsky know and not you?"

"Why would David know what?"

The new voice breezed in as casually as it pleased, leaving Sam jolting in surprise while Finn didn't bat an eyelash, probably accustomed to Kurt's random intrusions.

Sam was still working on it.

Finn turned towards Kurt, happily filling him in. "What's wrong with Mike."

Sam finally took his eyes off the umbrella to take a peak at the other teen, knowing if anyone would be able to give them some answers it would probably be Kurt. There was a calm pause, maybe a hesitation, Sam wasn't sure, but he was thinking about something and…

Kurt continued, face calm but concerned. "Something's wrong with Mike?"

It didn't come off as natural as he had hoped it would, at least not to Sam, who was looking for discrepancies. He fooled Finn easy but Sam knew what it meant.

Kurt was hiding something.

As the shorter teen addressed this to Finn, the quarterback turned his eyes towards Sam, Kurt following in suit, and the blond nodded, tucking away his suspicion.

"Yes."

Kurt looked thoughtful and Sam studied him, it _was_ thoughtful but not…not like he'd just caught wind of a new story. He wasn't excited about new gossip. It was like...maybe he had heard it before. Like he put up a front but wasn't really trying.

Sam narrowed his eyes, but Kurt was unbothered.

"And only Karofsky knows?" he asked, perfectly reasonable, and Finn and Sam answered him at the same time.

"Yes."

Kurt paused again, another look crossing his face, but this one was speculative. There _was_ something new, a good story, something that was important, but he wasn't going to spell it out for Finn and Sam. The young Hummel rubbed his chin, lost in thought as he stared off into the distance.

"Interesting," he murmured, mostly to himself, and exited the room without another word.

Finn and Sam stared after him dumbly, Finn confused, Sam growing more and more agitated.

Great, _more_ people had decided he was unfit to help.

Finn had a light bulb moment after a few seconds, snapping his fingers excitedly as he turned back to Sam. "Dude, do you think he knows?"

God, it was almost painful.

"No," Sam replied, going back to glaring at the umbrella. If everyone else was going to keep this on the hush-hush then he was too. Not because he was bitter or anything, he was just playing by their rules. He would figure it out on his own, no need to bother Mike or Kurt, he would go straight to the source.

He would go to Karofsky for his answers.

Finn shrugged, taking his word for it, and walked away, apparently bored with Sam's newfound hobby.

Coming full-circle back to the beginning, the blond began planning how he would tackle his new project, and when.

On the bright side, Sam had a definite in. But only if Karofsky actually cared about his umbrella.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The benefit of being ridiculously well known by Tina was that it allowed Mike to skip all and any pleasantries and cut to the main goal of his visit, one glance at his sufficiently downtrodden demeanor enough for him to be immediately herded to her bedroom. He was sure he looked pitiful, half-wet (umbrella, he forgot it, then didn't care) and frazzled, though it was so embarrassingly genuine that he had attempted to cover it up as best he could, consciously avoiding staring at his feet or wringing his hands. His head was a mess, and he needed desperately for some no-nonsense, take-charging, structure to be enforced posthaste. Tina was the only one for the job (and it helped that he kind of loved her, like, a _whole_ lot, except then there was-), balancing uncompromised focus with delicate probing and knowing, somehow, what Mike would need. She was even kind enough to ignore the fact he was getting her comforter wet whenever they settled on her bed, because his mind was already beyond it, and she probably didn't care anyway.

She was magical like that.

It took about ten seconds of fingers running through his hair before the first of it spilled out, his eyes gazing unfocused at her ceiling while he tried to make it work, make sure she wouldn't get hurt.

"I'm bi," he declared, and then before she could respond he added, "but I love-"

His anxiety was pointless, her tone was knowing and calm when she cut him off, like she expected it.

"I know." Her fingers changed directions, wandering aimlessly, playfully, but were stern in their refusal when he tried to pick his head off of her lap. Tina chuckled, looking down on him fondly. "I had a feeling."

He opened his mouth to ask and immediately shut it, it was a girl thing probably, no excess machismo or ego or stupidity to cloud her vantage point in the world. His eyes flickered nervously to the side of the room, unsure of where to go next, and then turned back to Tina. When he registered her patient expression he realized that she was waiting for him to continue, knowing, probably before he did, where this was going.

Mike wondered how effective it would have been if she had given him a heads up. You know, _before_ this whole mess had started.

Probably not very.

He furrowed his brows, hating it, sort of, or hating _him_. "It's Puck-"

He shut his mouth, clamping his eyes closed as he admitted it, because it was _Puck_. Puck who in no way, shape, or form was comparable to Tina. It almost felt like an injustice to even _like_ both of them at the same time, how would she feel-?

But the fingers were insistent, rubbing patient circles while Tina murmured quiet, calming words that sort of blurred together.

God he sucked.

He tried to fix it.

"I love-"

"I _know_ ," she repeated, tiniest hints of exasperation edging in on her voice.  Mike frowned, because she didn't, she _couldn't_ , and Tina sighed, already figuring him out.

See, _see_ , he had _this_ awesome girlfriend who knew him and cared about him and liked him for _him_ and not for his looks or his dancing and enjoyed talking to _him_ and put up with _him_ and, for some dumb, unimaginably _stupid_ reason Mike had to go and not only want more, a little bit extra to the awesome he was already so graciously given, but he wanted it to be _Puck_ of all people.

How could she know?

The happy tone was back, the quiet fond one he would have wrapped himself in if he could. "I love you too."

Man, he wanted to do better by her.

As though reading his mind, Tina continued, cheer and enthusiasm countering his gloom.

"But you know what?" she paused, staring down at him, bottom lip quirked to the side in challenge. "I'm a forward thinker."

He blinked, face apparently priceless because Tina immediately let out a bark of laughter, and he pawed at her side as he tried to figure out how that particular comment was supposed to fit into the conversation.

Tina smiled brightly, happily informing him on what he missed.

"What I'm trying to say is…" she drew it out, taunting him with lifted eyebrows and he glared at her, though it wasn't heartfelt.

It only served to make her smile wider. And after she felt an appropriate amount of time had passed, "I'm saying that I'm behind having two boyfriends."

… _two boyfriends?_

Wait, wasn't he the one who-?

Wait.  Stop.  Think about it. Was she actually implying-?

Tina took pity on his poor, wandering mind and steered him back into the land of the living, explaining herself because he just couldn't comprehend it.

"I love you," she said, rubbing the side of his face, and he loved her too, so much- "And you love both of us-"

And _that_ he had to put a stop to.

"I don't _love-_ "

Even as Tina waved him off he kept his hand up as a gesture of refusal. He didn't _love_ Puck, he didn't. Mike liked him. Like, a hell of a lot more than he ever should, but it wasn't what he had for-

It was probably just teenage wistfulness, or hormones or the ever-pressing longing for the unattainable, _that_ was probably what Mike had for Puck, he didn't have _this_ , wasn't sure if he wanted _this_ -

Tina nodded thoughtfully, hearing him out but moving on, because Mike would spend the rest of the night on that particular point.

"Okay, we'll cross that bridge later." The lighthearted dissipated into a new kind of determined, a warrior princess, the game-is-on sort of look that would have made his knees go weak were he standing.

"Look," she began, devilish smirk in place. "He wanted us both at the beginning of the year right? Well, _we'll_ just have to be the ones doing the wooing this time."

She smiled at him mischievously as Mike stared at her, gaping in shock. That was _not_ the response he had expected. That wasn't even his best case scenario (which may have featured heavy making out until the idea of Puck had completely vanished from Mike's mind), how could she be so…

And it almost made him doubt, with how easily she was going along with this, how much she cared about him. Like this was just a game and the more the merrier, right?

But he knew that wasn't it. That wasn't Tina.

So he had to ask.

"How can you...?"

_Be so okay with this?_

Even though he didn't finish it Tina understood his question, and her expression softened.

"I love you, and for you, I'm willing to make this work." The playful smile came back, familiar and right. "Besides, he did make me one heck of a corsage right?"

Mike glowered slightly, ears turning red as he revisited that particular admittance. Eventually when the bean-spilling had happened Mike's outrage for her perspective on _his_ poetry skills had divulged the secret behind the corsage and its fallen predecessors, and while Tina had managed to mollify his indignation by explaining she thought he was being purposefully awful, she had still taken great pleasure in reviewing the expression he had on his face when she had gotten it, falling into hysterical laughter almost _every_ _time_.

His girlfriend grinned wickedly in response, poking at his side, and Mike couldn't help but muse over how much he loved her. She was so smart, and kind, and badass. Puck would definitely like that, _did_ like that (as he had told Mike several times, way back when). Sure Zizes was a brawler, definitely a hell raiser when the time called for it, but Tina was a different kind of awesome, playing in the nitty-gritty and coming out untouched, because she was strong. Despite her calm exterior she was determined, and she would definitely get what she wanted.

Once made aware of her availability Puck would undoubtedly come running. She was everything he wanted.

Mike's enthusiasm for the success of their plan probably would have been a lot stronger if he wasn't suddenly hit by the need to mope. Sure it would be easy for _her_ , but for Mike…

Nothing, Puck wouldn't want to...there had to be a way to phrase this without sounding stupid, engage in emotional intimacy and-

Nope, Mike couldn't finish it.

Damn Tina and her loveable girly-bits.

Mike couldn't help but be brought full circle back to his initial plan to deal with Puck, the…sex chicken thing. He had felt so victorious then, so damn _smart_. This was irony, schadenfreude, the world laughing at him. Puck didn't want…

Before he could fall too deep into his depression, Tina pulled him up, wrapping her arms around his waist as she leaned against his shoulder.

"Don't worry," she coaxed, already figuring him out. "Just trust me, it'll be fine."

Were it a pep-talk of his own Mike would have ignored it, because clearly his judgment and ideas were all kinds of compromised, but this was coming from Tina, and if she trusted him enough to go through with this…

Well, he could trust her a little too.

He didn't want to get his hopes up, but if _she_ was willing to try for his sake, then the least Mike could do was try and fight for his own wants. Enough with letting other people be in control, it was his turn.

Well, it was _their_ turn.

He smiled, first time since he had gotten there, and rested his chin on top of Tina's head, returning her hold.

It was time for the Asian Fusion to storm Noah Puckerman's world.

And while he shouldn't think of it that way, Mike couldn't help but feel it was time for a little payback.


	10. Nuking the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which only the best intentions are had, but that's not much of a consolation for anyone involved. 
> 
> Quinn was only trying to help though. Honest.

So there were these two boys Quinn knew.

They were mostly harmless (so long as you kept your interactions in safe territories, i.e. _no unprotected sex_ ), adorably dopey (yes, both of them, including Chang. Scratch that, _especially_ Chang), and so wrapped up in each other and retardedly _unaware_ of it that it was painful to watch; because there was being oblivious and then there was complete and outright _denial_. Actually, denial made it sound like they had some form of acknowledgment towards their feelings; as far as Mike and Puck were concerned there were no intimate aspects of their relationship.  In fact, the "relationship" factor was up for debate as well.

For the better part of a year Quinn had sat back and watched their interactions as her own private form of entertainment. Puck wasn't her problem anymore and she and Mike had never been close, so interfering…no, not necessary. At least not on her part. She knew attraction when she saw it (thought Kurt would be all over it, and shame on him, he missed it), knew from personal experience just how insufferably _agonizing_ dealing with Puck could be - an irresponsible, attention-deficit toddler with daddy issues, and mommy issues - (Quinn was actually impressed he hadn't dropped out of school yet, wondered how much Finn had to do with that), and knew the fireworks that were to come would be nothing short of amazing. Mike was smart, but quiet (another word for repressed, by choice or by fear, it was irrelevant because it was _still_ repressed) and while he tolerated enough eventually there had to be a breaking point. She had almost thought about warning Chang. He wasn't that bad, he didn't deserve the monstrosity that was Puck's advances (especially considering the fact Puck wouldn't be able to _perceive_ them as advances), but then…

She had a thought.

Because maybe this would work.

Puck had a natural tendency to attract people who were his complete opposites; the only thing he and Finn really had in common besides genitalia and astoundingly low IQs was a love for football. Of course there was always the missing-father thing, but personality-wise Finn was more of a gentle giant while Puck was a spitting pit bull with displaced anger. Quinn had fallen for Puck's charms herself, knew how different their futures would be, what she had and what she lacked, but Mike-

Mike was _way_ left field for Puck. Quiet, respectful, dedicated, strong values. Then add in the fact he was also male…

It was so brokenly wrong that it could only be a winning combination.

Now if Puck wasn't so busy _screwing_ that up maybe they would be in the middle of planning their own teen wedding or making plans for college or trying to figure out how many children they would be adopting into their strangely-balanced household.

It started when Kurt left, like Puck finally realized the fragility of it all, that people could be relocated at any moment, and acted on this epiphany by being ridiculously overprotective of everyone. He was even, as best he could be, nicer to them (without actually giving the appearance of it, and they allowed him that delusion, since it made him feel better), with the exception of Mike.

Mike got the protection but none of the love. Quinn would go so far as to say Puck went out of his way to be critical of most of the things the dancer did, or give him a harder time (again, without looking like he was putting too much effort into it, because he was Puck and that shit wouldn't fly). It was cute, when Quinn eventually figured it out, because Mike was just a little bit extra special in Puck's world and the only way the stupid lug could process that, could actual _handle_ those emotions, was with the 1st grade, pigtail-pulling kind of approach. So he went out of his way to make Mike mad, because he _liked_ seeing Mike mad (or maybe that was just the only way he could interact with him), and Mike, bless him, reacted the way any normal person would, by assuming that he meant nothing to Puck.

(So it should always be noted that this was, in essence, all Puck's fault.  In case anyone ever got confused, they could reference this fact.)

(It should also be noted that Mike cared enough to do whatever the hell Puck wanted, _that_ _was_ how badly he needed "respect", so yeah, clearly oozing out declarations of love right there.)

And when the time came and they were _still_ being stupid, Quinn decided set things straight with the smart one of the duo, figuring if Puck actually got what he wanted (without ever having to actually ask, because he would never be able to manage _that_ , the moron) Mike would eventually figure out what that he wanted it too and they would get their fairy tale ending and stop dragging the rest of them into it.

(It was entertaining, it really was, but enough was enough already.)

Quinn should have known that it had been too easy.

She should have known that if _anything_ was going to stick it would have required a slide show presentation with plenty of visual effects, demonstrations, and an oral confirmation from both of the teens in question. Because they were boys and simply saying they were stupid did so _very_ little justice for the actual stupidity they exhibited, because they could actually have everything they had wanted, everything they had built up towards, without _ever being aware of it_.

And then make stupidly depressed faces whenever it was lost, but trying to hide it, because they were boys _and emotionally incompetent_.

It made Quinn wants to slam her head into a desk the few times she could actually spend thinking about their problems (because her own life had become so uncertain and she hated it, and only used their life to escape that slow fall into depression).

They _wanted_ each other, and hey, Puck was even putting in the effort to really win Mike over. But no, Mike wouldn't have it. And now, _now_ that he had finally gotten with the picture? Yeah, now Puck was too busy trying to recreate the family life he always wanted with a woman that had at least ten years on him and a daughter he had agreed he was unfit to raise.

Quinn knew she was a hypocrite, because she wanted it too, but Puck _had_ something, something good, and then he had just _thrown_ it away and Quinn couldn't even keep something that she had set her sights on (and she should have been able too, she was Quinn Fabray damnit and that used to mean something).

Part of her wanted to hate him for it, _did_ hate him for it, because he could run around and get people pregnant and try to steal atm's and cause a scene in New York City and _still_ get everything he could have ever needed, opportunities the rest of them might never have, and then turn his stupid nose up from it because it didn't fit into some white-picket fence utopia that he thought he _really_ wanted but was probably just using as an escape. Because if Puck had something to strive for that he couldn't really have then it was okay if he was always failing, because he wasn't _supposed_ to succeed.

But if you gave him something within his reach-

She was probably over-analyzing this. Guys who drew pig-clowns for their one-year-old daughter didn't have the depth to manage such motives. Quinn was giving him too much credit.

Screw it, she didn't care _why_ , she just knew she wanted her baby back and she needed him to do it, and if she wanted him at his best, at his most effective, she needed a certain Asian to dance his way back into the picture.

(There was a possibility that a small part of her still cared about Puck and legitimately wanted him to be happy, but no one was going to ask and she was never going to tell so-)

It was simply a question of how.

Quinn could try to talk to Puck, try to gently nudge that thinking cap into a high enough gear and aim it in Mike's direction, but just thinking that…no, now was not the time for subtlety. Now was the time for affirmative action, to take the bull by its horns, shake it as hard as physically possibly and bash its face in with undisputed facts so that there was no possible room for error or confusion.

Knowing her luck, and knowing Puck, this still probably wouldn't work.

She needed to get Chang back involved (with the utmost discretion because otherwise she'd spook him and they'd come too far, were too close-), it was the best way. To wake Puck up and then present him with his reward, no work, just "there you are" and boom, instant happy ending.  Then he would be focused and they could get their baby back.

Okay, talk with Puck first, _then_ deliver Chang unto him.

Shouldn't be too hard.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Shelby let them babysit (Quinn couldn't have planned it more perfectly, she could bond with her baby _and_ set Puck straight; two birds, one stone, absolute efficiency) and Quinn didn't wait too long before she started in on Puck, only allowing Beth to get settled (beautiful, perfect baby girl with wide blue eyes, the cutest, Quinn wanted to hold her but knew she'd only start crying-) before she talked to him, going for the direct approach.

"You should be dating Mike."

He looked at her, half-confused by the choice of topic and half =-confused by the fact Quinn actually cared enough about his relationships to _bring up_ said topic (and she didn't but she needed this okay, she needed Puck to be on her side, not team Shelby, she needed him _focused_ ). He readjusted his grip on Beth (and Quinn would give him this, he was really trying and it was sweet, but just because Puck had his moments didn't mean he could be responsible.  That was another plus of having Chang around, the responsibility could be unloaded onto him) and narrowed his eyes, not liking where this was going, but she continued before he could tell her to step off.

"No, you listen," she said, crossing her arms because she used to be Queen Bee and she knew how to make people focus on her.  If she was going to bother herself with Puck's problems he had better freaking _pay attention._

"You like Mike, which is cute, by the way." He frowned and she kept going, "But just to illuminate the depth of your relationship because clearly you are incapable of doing this yourself, you really, _really_ like Mike." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, flippant but on task and Puck shifted, holding Beth closer to his chest.

Good, he was starting to get defensive, that meant she was hitting close to home.

This was going to be easier than she thought.

"And I'll admit it was entertaining to watch you try and figure this out, purposefully going out of your way to irritate him because hey, any attention is good attention right?" He opened his mouth to object but Quinn waved him off, because yes, he _did_ have the mentality of a five year old and they weren't going to waste time arguing about that.

She smirked. "You made him so desperate and so needy for your good graces that he was wrapped around your little finger, willing to do whatever it was you wanted. And you know what?"

Quinn leaned her hip against the back of Shelby's couch, trying to appear more casual. Puck eyed her warily but relaxed some, and Quinn smiled slowly.

"You didn't abuse that power nearly as much as I thought you would."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Aside from the fact that most of your little speech is pure insanity, I would like to point out that I never wanted to get into Mike's pants."

"Of course," Quinn replied, grinning. "That was all Zizes."

The jock looked to the side, off in the distance where his mind drifted to thoughts of his ex girlfriend. "She was so badass."

Quinn sighed and failed to hide her eye roll. "She was basically a female you."

Puck frowned. "What's wrong with that?"

_And now comes the explanatory portion of the evening._

Or, if she were to be exact, here came the more _in depth_ explanatory portion of the evening.

Quinn dealt out the facts. "What's wrong with that is the fact you knew it couldn't last. You purposefully picked someone you knew you couldn't keep a steady relationship with."

_That_ wasn't received well at all. Puck pulled back, personally offended by her suggestion, and glared. "Now hold on there blondee, there's a few things wrong with that particular statement, mostly being that Puckzilla is not a one-gal kind of guy and if he _was_ there is _no way_ he would lose someone that he really wanted." He shrugged his shoulders. "Clearly, Zizes wasn't the one. She was a super, ass-kicking beast-lady, but she obviously couldn't appreciate pure awesomeness incarnate."

Quinn was about three seconds away from strangling the stupid lug herself; regardless of whether he was holding their baby or not because that- it- dear _God_ she could not properly describe this. He had addressed all of her points right _there_ and he was still acting like the wounded party. Probably because it was easier to play the victim than it was to take responsibility for yourself, but saying Zizes didn't appreciate Puck when the stupid jock himself didn't appreciate _Mike_ -

Okay, so this was going to take a little longer than she had previously anticipated.

She would attack this one point at a time.

"Alright first of all," she began, rubbing the side of her head. "Just look at yourself. Look at what you are _trying_ to do. You are attempting to be a good father to our baby, you are trying to grow up and mature and can you honestly say-" She looked at him, beseechingly, because they had bypassed stupid such a long time ago. "-that you are still into one night stands? No real relationships; just love em' and leave em' and damn everything else?"

It was a minor victory that Puck began to look a little cowed, because it was bullshit and they both acknowledged that, so Quinn moved on.

"And second of all you-" She jabbed a finger at him. "Just like _everyone_ else in the world, are scared. You're afraid of failing, you’re afraid of taking a chance on something, something really important and having blow up in your face. You're afraid you'll get hurt, or humiliated, or end up losing what little you have which is, granted, understandable. Reasonable even. But instead of _manning up_ you go ahead and throw it all away, because then guess what? _You're_ the one that get's to be in charge, _you're_ the one that's doing the hurting or humiliating and you get to remain perfectly untouched."

He looked confused again, but it wasn't overpowering, not enough that Quinn would have to stop and start over, so she just kept going while the iron was hot, while she still could.

"But you don't even realize that you're still losing, because you _had_ something Puck, and you just threw it-"

"Will you shut up?"

Quinn stepped back, surprised by the sudden outburst. 

Puck looked back at her with wounded eyes, serious, no more playing dumb.  "Look I know I'm not that smart, okay Quinn? I get that, I won't ever claim anything different, but I tried with that guy, I did, I _tried_ , and I can take a freaking hint. He doesn't _want_ me and even trying in the first place-"

Oh. _Oh_.

_That_ was what this was about.

Puck wasn't stupid, not as stupid or detached as he acted and he had known, _way_ before Mike had known, and he _had_ tried.

And what did he get in return for his efforts, as superficial as they had seemed?

Nothing. Rejection. Outrage.

It was strange to have Puck come out as the more emotionally aware of the two, that he had recognized what they had and accepted it (which could possibly be the reason why Zizes dumped him, because she was crafty and always aware of her surroundings, Quinn would have to ask her later) before Mike had.  And though this would probably be the only moment Puck would ever show that weakness, that hurt, Quinn needed him to see what she saw, was Zizes saw (because she was a bitch but she wouldn't have thrown Puck to the wind if she hadn't thought Mike would be there to catch him, if she hadn't thought Puck would be taken care of because she had a soft spot for him).

And Quinn needed him to see it before things got too out of hand, because she had been cocky and had made some very bad time management decisions.

"Puck-" she started, but he cut her off.

"No, just, I get it." He shook his head, clutching Beth to his chest. "It was stupid; it was a dumb idea. Mike's a smart guy and he knew it was a bad idea from the start, _always_ knew it was a bad idea-"

It wasn't about that _damnit_ ; she'd get Chang back later for doing this, for being so _damn stupid_ , but right now-

She reached for his arm. "Puck you just have to show him-"

He jerked away. "What else am I supposed to do?" he asked, and Beth made an unsettled noise, as though sensing the tension, and Puck rubbed her back, instantly calming her.

Look at that, bonding. They had bonded.

_Focus Fabray_.

Quinn grit her teeth, trying to get back on track. Time was ticking away.

"Talk to him."

Puck glared at her, the most serious and hurt she had ever seen him. "And lose the rest of my dignity? The rest of my self respect?"

Puck had to put Beth down in her playpen because his arms were too tense, but he handed her a pink blanket, her favorite, and kept playing with her gently, even as he kept talking.

"Maybe I went about it the wrong way, maybe I wasn't serious enough, but I'm not going to-"

There were some knocks on the door and Quinn cursed, _damn her cockiness_ , she had thought they'd be done with this sooner, hadn't known the wound ran this deep, hadn't known-

"Puck, I promise if you try-"

This was going to keep going wasn't it? It was like a bad soap opera, she couldn't just ask him to stop and even if she did he wouldn't care, he was just unloading, and he had a right to but if he only _knew_ -

"No!' Puck jumped up and Beth immediately began to look more agitated again. He sat back down quickly, running a hand through her hair and threw a glance at the door, irritated it was interrupting his rant.

"I am done," he continued, bitter. "Mike Chang is a waste of time, he is a waste of effort, he is a waste of my Goddamn _attention_. Guy's a good friend, can really help out when you're in a pinch, great for back up and that's about it."

He stared at her, cold and bitter and Quinn felt the dread begin to build up in her stomach.

"Let's not try to give background pieces any more importance than they really deserve." He smiled, getting back into his joking, dumb-but-lovable Puck mode, his fallback, his armor, and he started walking towards the door, remembering the knocks. "We had fun while it lasted, but it's time to move on to bigger and better things."

He leaned against the door, smirk sliding into place and hammering the final nail into his coffin, he didn't even know, and Quinn didn't know how she could fix it, how to improve it at all.

She just knew she had to.

He shrugged flippantly, because he was Puck and he couldn't let anything hurt him, and look, look at nothing hurting him; not heartbreak or rejection or people closing him down. He was still there and strong and he would rather keep spitting out anger and abuse to others than ever let them know how badly he had been wounded.

_Emotionally incompetent._

Quinn was starting to hate those words.

Puck unlocked the deadbolt, still looking over his shoulder and keeping his eyes locked on hers. "Not that it will be all that hard." He unhooked the door chain. "It's just Chang, after all."

And then he pulled it open, not bothering to check who it was, and a shaken Mike Chang stood on the other side, hands paused as though he were reaching for the door. There was a crushed expression on his face - the most crushed, if ever there was one - and Quinn felt like a total heel all over again.

Just dragging another one down with them. Pulling someone else into their steaming pile of negativity and loathing.

"I got a…I got a text from Quinn," Mike explained, because Puck was too surprised to say anything and Mike looked like he just wanted to bury himself in a hole somewhere, and the faster he got out of this the greater the odds of his success for that. He shrugged, eyes squinting _(anger and abuse spat out on him)_. "You guys look busy so I'm…" he gestured behind him, refusing to take his eyes off of the floor _(wounded, wounded, wounded)_. "I'm just gonna go."

Quinn would never be able to argue in favor of her scheduling abilities ever again, because even if her concern had sprung from her own selfish motives she had royally screwed up the lives of two other people who didn't really deserve it (and who she could quite possibly care for, if she wasn't an ice queen, if she didn't have to remain detached to survive).

Mike left before either one of them could say anything, though in his defense, neither one of them really had anything to say.

As hurt as he was, even Puck knew he had crossed a line, was still attuned with Mike enough to know that the dancer had not only heard every word, but taken it all to heart (another unfairness because it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't Puck's fault, it was just bad communication, with each other, with _themselves_ ).

Puck closed the door and sagged against it, heavy with defeat, and mumbled, "Well, _shit_."

Yeah…that sounded appropriate.

_Shit indeed._

He didn't even bother glaring at her because she had arranged it, figured she was just trying to help, and Quinn groaned and ran a hand through her hair.

And _now_ it was time for damage control.

She could fix this. This could be fixed.

Quinn glanced at Beth, at beautiful, tiny, baby Beth who was holding onto the edge of her playpen.  She knew if she wanted any shot at having their screwed up little family unit with Puck and Mike and her and that tiny little baby that she would _have_ to make things right again.

It was simply a matter of effort.


	11. I Possess Your Spine, Bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The emergency brain trust for Mike-and-Puck relations is initiated, and then run mildly amuck by Sam Evans.
> 
> Unintentionally. It wasn't his fault they didn't feel like sharing things.

Noah Puckerman didn't deserve Mike Chang.

It should have been an undisputed fact. In Dave's world, it _was_ an undisputed fact, but all those low-lives Puck had surrounded himself with, those glee losers who were soft and weak and had supported Puckerman for far too long had corrupted the jock, changed him.

The Noah Puckerman of three years ago, he didn't deserve Mike Chang.

But the Noah Puckerman of today…he _might_ deserve Mike. Just, maybe a little. If popularity and badass-ness meant nothing (and if David were being completely honest he knew it didn't, wouldn't in the long run, but he had enough shit on his plate so he wasn't going to throw off his entire status quo for just one dude).

From the little experience Dave had accumulated with Mike, he just _might_ be a little bitter about this fact, but when he stepped back to look at it this felt completely justified. Because, you know, _Mike_.

It had been exhilarating, those few moments in the locker room, it was like Dave had finally won something, something really important, and with Mike…Dave would be honest, he hadn't seen it coming. In retrospect it somehow made sense, and it had been (for lack of better words and this was his mind so it didn't matter how stupid it sounded, he was still badass) sort of wonderful. Because Dave wasn't alone. Yeah, there was Kurt, but being thrown in league with him just wasn't any fair because Kurt was practically a girl anyway, and the only thing that ostracized Dave from all the other guys was the fact that he had these random urges to _make out_ with all the other guys.

Okay, maybe not Azimio, but he was like a brother, and Dave was _not_ enough of a huckleberry for that to ever be okay.

Dave was relieved when he figured out Chang hadn't been playing him, or tricking him, or baited into it by Kurt or something (Dave would give Hummel this, he could keep a secret despite all the reasons he really shouldn't, despite the vengeance he could be seeking, the potential blackmail) and then it had all come tumbling down because of Puckerman.

Damn that prick. He always came first didn't he? Always got to have claim to _everyone_ ; even the guys, apparently.

That was what you got for being the biggest man-whore in town.

It wasn't that surprising that Puck and Mike used to do the dirty. Or the almost-dirty. What, with Puck being the skankiest of skanks and Mike being the…

Alright, Dave was willing to admit he had no idea how Mike was benefiting from the arrangement (the dancer had said it was to get Puck to stop treating him like garbage, but Dave was not convinced). It was deeper than that. He knew it, that chick Zizes knew it (arrogant, obnoxious bitch, but Dave owed her so much, for accepting and dealing out only mild judgment that felt more obligatory than heartfelt, he sort've got what Puck had seen in her), and Kurt probably knew it. The only one that was in the dark was Mike, who was still fighting it.

If there was one thing that Dave was acutely aware of it was that attraction was an untamable and frustratingly spontaneous beast. There was no rhyme or reason to it. You couldn't control it, you couldn't wish it away; at the end of the day your dick and your heart would go ahead and decide to pin their hopes on something without bothering to consult the brain, because majority ruled and who needed common sense anyway? Who needed to conform to societies expectations? What did that have to do with libido or comfort or overall happiness?

None, so why the hell should the brain be involved at all?

Dave had wasted so much _time_ trying to do the mind-over-matter thing, trying to will all these feelings and urges into the back of his head; convincing himself it was a fad, simple curiosity, it didn't mean anything, it wouldn't be lasting, it _couldn't_ be lasting, it was nothing to worry about. And if his _head_ had any say in the matter, if he could pick out his attractions for himself, he would have. Dave would have taken the path of least resistance and never thought twice about it. Goodbye to worry; goodbye to pondering over his manhood, or the lack he had to make up for, feeling like less or like a freak and loathing. No more wanting to hide; no more anger, or sorrow, or fear.

Just girls. Girls all the way, and just being another one of the guys. No social movements, no uncertainty, just _girls_.

He would have taken that choice every time.

Mike Chang deserved better than Noah Puckerman, but Dave knew that what Mike _needed_ and desperately wanted outweighed that distinction of character and satisfied what he, as an individual, truly deserved.

It was obvious that Mike was still a grasshopper when it came to accepting the unchangeable force of attraction, that he was having a hard time of it, so Dave had decided to give back, what little he could offer (he knew it wasn't much, but he had to at least try to pay it forward, to make up for what he'd done).

At the end of their little "chat" Dave had come to four obvious conclusions. They were:

1) Mike Chang really _was_ as nice and courteous as everyone had assumed. (The guy never talked, but he had _also_ not gone out of his way to punch people in the face, so this had previously just been inferred).

2) Underneath that kind and courteous exterior was a stupid goofball that was (adorably) overactive.

Which may or may not be considered endearing by certain bystanders.

3) Noah Puckerman in no way, shape, or form deserved the affections of one Mike Chang.

And 4) Mike Chang was totally and utterly screwed.

Dave honestly didn't know Puck well enough to be familiar with what the mohawked teen saw as important or worthwhile in that jacked up world of his, didn't even know if he was capable of the kind of relationship Mike was looking for, and truth be told, Dave felt ridiculously uncomfortable even thinking about it. So he stuck to what he was good at. Waiting, watching, being there in case Mike needed a morale boost. Those were things Dave could handle (and seeing as most of the glee club hated him, they were probably the only things he could do without inciting some kind of riot).

For the most part things had been going peachy. Or, you know, just maintaining a steady routine. Mike would make conflicted faces at Puck, Puck (the dumbass) would goggle at that teacher he seemed so desperate to pine over, and then Mike would make a sad face. Rinse, repeat, sometimes add in an encouraging pat from the girlfriend (and Dave could _not_ understand this, only knew that Mike probably had the best girlfriend in the world who encouraged permanent threesomes. She kind've made Dave wish he was into ladies).

And then, one not-so-special day, things changed.

See, _now_ Mike would skip straight to step three, the look away and sad face. Truly no one could compare with the dancer's mastery of not-looking at people. It was _almost_ like Puck didn't exist, except Mike had to be constantly aware of where the jock was so he could consciously avoid looking at him, and Puck knew it, and Mike knew he knew it, he just didn't care. And now Puck had finally entered into Mike's old program, the conflicted looks (or as conflicted as Puck could get, Dave didn't really care to look too hard) and then he would be ignored, and then Quinn of all people would _try_ to pat Puck's arm, but he'd shake it off and walk way, glaring at her before repeating the entire process all over again.

So…progress?

This felt like progress. It wasn't success by any means, but at least Puck was involved now and that had to count for something, right?

Dave wished he could feel more encouraged by this. He also wished he would feel a little more freaked out by how interested he was in these people's lives. Seriously, he had shit to do; he should be focusing on homework and stuff, not glee-time soap operas.

And…nope, still interested. He felt slightly better after he put up a fight though. Just, comforted his brain a little, let him know it was all right in there.

" _You._ "

The tone was accusatory at best, and it was the only warning Dave got before Sam Evans ran into his side, as though the ex-quarterback had been going for some sort of attack but hadn't managed the brain power to figure out what kind before plowing into Dave. Should have startled him more but it really, really didn't. Glee club was sort of a magnet for the less-intellectually gifted students of McKinley, so stupid glee club kids doing stupid glee club things, not so surprising.

Dave was sort of miffed that his nice gesture towards Sam had been ignored though. Either cower in fear or go for apathetic neutrality. If Dave really wanted to dream big he would hope for forgiveness and acceptance (as in the case of Mike), but from someone like Sam, Dave had expected one of the prior options.

Clearly this was not the case.

Sam had enough momentum that he had pushed Dave out of his maybe/perhaps-spying zone where he _might_ have been observing another one of Puck's fail loops. On the bright side it was after school, so the last few students that were around didn't pay Dave and Sam much attention, too distracted by the prospect of freedom to give a damn about fish-face's manhandling. Good, Dave didn't like being taken by surprise. Now he could let the blond have it without worrying about repercussions.

Best bully face on (Dave practiced it because it was armor, it wasn't nice but it was what he had); Dave glared at the other jock.

"What the hell-?"

He really shouldn't have bothered. Seriously, Sam Evans did not take hints well. Or warnings. Also, had the intelligence of a toothbrush (which felt like more of an insult to the toothbrush, if Dave was being honest).

" _You,_ " Sam said again, disregarding the threatening tone in Dave's voice and returning his glare with a fierce one of his own. Or, as fierce as you could get while wagging around an umbrella in a very unintimidating manner.

If Dave weren't so annoyed with the interruption he would find it amusing (cute- no, _stupid_. Yes, definitely stupid, but appropriate, because well, _Sam_ ).

Sam waved the umbrella again, jabbing it at Dave's chest.

"You _know_ things and I-" he pointed the umbrella back towards him and almost jabbed himself in the eye, but didn't allow this to deter him. "-would like to know things."

When Dave opened his mouth to make him clarify or, you know, _go away_ , Sam pushed forward into his personal space, squinting at Dave in what the blond must have perceived as a menacing fashion.

"Look, I know that you're keeping your thing with Mike on the down low-"

Which immediately put Dave on edge because that did not sound _at all_ how Sam intended it to sound, and even if there _weren't_ a lot of people around there were more than enough to condemn him and Sam, completely oblivious, continued.

"But you know things. You're his friend, as much as I don't like it, and _I'm_ his friend and we should be working together to stop the-" Sam motioned to his face as he mimicked Mike's kicked-puppy expression. "-from happening and in order to do that I need to know the thing you know so we can fight evil and make him feel better. Also," Sam pulled the umbrella back towards his chest protectively, as though he'd forgotten who it belonged to, and he added, almost childishly, "You should not know things I don't know."

And then he glared, this time challenging Dave to deny him, daring him to say no because Sam, though a moron, could be a determined little snot when he really wanted to be. It was how he had gotten the quarterback position from Hudson, it was how he probably ended up dating Quinn, and it was how he was going to lay down his ultimatum for Mike, because Sam stuck by his friends.  While the blond was not a fan of Dave, he would do what it took to take care of Mike.

If there was one thing Mike Chang did deserve, and had totally earned, was the support of a bunch of kick-ass friends. Dave lost himself in that for just a fraction of a second, because he desperately wanted (and knew he didn't deserve it but still wanted-) that too. Unrelenting support. No questions, no qualms, just a constant stream of backup.

Dave wished he was a good enough guy to have that.

"So," Sam said, jolting Dave out of his thoughts. "We on the same side?"

Yes? No? Maybe?

Dave couldn't give him the entirety of Mike's crises, but could he let Sam in on a little of it? Just, throw the guy a bone (not that- _shut_ ** _up_** _brain_ ) for putting up the effort?

A trio of voices spared Dave from having to come up with an immediate answer; the familiar tones urgent and hushed, moving down the hall adjacent to he and Sam at a rushed speed before getting out of hearing range. Dave wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't distinctly heard the words " _Mike_ " and " _Puck_ " exchanged in those whispers, and with Sam's look of confirmation knew the other jock had heard it too.

Sam and Dave peaked around the corner just in time to see Quinn, Kurt, and Tina duck into an empty classroom. A few seconds later Zizes, who must have also been eavesdropping, followed in their footsteps, only halting just before the door to stare in the two football player's direction, as though she had known they were there the entire time.

Dave held his breath, felt Sam do the same beside him, but all she did was roll her eyes and motion into the classroom, gesture completely conveying the _"move it you losers"_ she must have been going for. Dave hesitated, but Sam didn't need to be told twice. The blond strode forward boldly, borrowed umbrella still in hand, and glanced over his shoulder after a few steps, obviously waiting for what who he had decided was his new partner in crime.

What was it he had said? _"I need to know the thing you know so we can fight evil…"_

Dave had overlooked it before, panicked but it-

Yeah, Sam Evans was a dopey kid, but at least he was entertaining as hell.

There could be worse partners in crime, Dave supposed.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Phase One (and Sam had decided to do this in phases because it gave him structure, and a plan, and he liked plans, they kept him from getting confused) was to enlist/threaten/blackmail the help of David Karofsky. Phase One (One being capitalized because it was the name of the Phase, and you know, _structure_ ) in its entirety had been broken down into four steps. They were:

One: Get Karofsky into a conversation, preferably while being civil and only resorting to violence as a last resort.

Two: Lay down the Mike-law and address his Mike-concerns (his friend, _his_ , so _he_ was entitled to helping, this was an undeniable fact so _suck it_ Karofsky).

Three: Find out the epic secret of doom that only Karofsky got to know and;

Four: Finagle Karofsky into aiding his plight in righting the wrong that was Mike's permanent sad-face time. Violence was also a last resort for this one (even if Sam didn't want it to be, he had to respect Mike's bad-friend making choices, and the bad-friends that resulted from them).

Steps one and two had been easily accomplished. Step three (which was the freaking _important_ one) had yet to have any kind of success. Sam was still a little uncertain about how step four was going, but Karofsky was following him and hadn't tried to slam him into any lockers yet, so Sam just assumed they were going the _"begrudging-help-as-long-as-we-don't-talk-about-it "_ route. Which Sam was cool with. He didn't want to talk about it either. Didn't want to have to deal with Karofsky. But if he _had_ to then the best way was probably this one, with both of them pretending they just _happened_ to be doing the _exact_ same thing at the _exact_ same time for the _exact_ same reason with possibilities of collaboration and _absolutely no good feelings about it_.

For both of their egos, this was the best choice.

Sam was glad he had waited before talking to Karofsky. So what if it was because he hadn't been sure what to say, or how to do it- because he had waited and then _bang_ , something happened. Like, there was a shift in the wind and Tina knew it, and Kurt knew it, and Mike was blatantly sad and things, _things_ were going down. And then Karofsky was doing that thing that Mike had been doing to him, except without randomly staring at walls (see, Sam wasn't _that_ dumb, he had caught onto Mike's spying and had his back, check it, Sam was a _great_ spy).

But back to the waiting. It had totally paid off because now the trail was super hot. That was Kurt, Tina, _and_ Quinn (though Sam didn't know what she had to do with it, but girls gossiped and Quinn was a girl, _so_ -) and then Zizes, the scary chick who conned Mike into making out with Puck, got involved and beckoned, honest to god, _beckoned_ him and Karofsky over. Things could not get better. Sam was going to get in on the gossip, Karofsky was going to be his backup, and nobody who was supposed to know things would _not-_ know things and everything would be just groovy.

Sam knew what to do even, had figured it out from watching Finn. See, other people only knew you didn't know something if you told them, or if like, you acted confused. So Sam _wasn't_ going to do that. Sam was going to play it smooth. He would just stand back and let everyone else do all the talking and nod like this was all yesterday's news and then _none of them_ would be able to keep him out of the loop because they were feeling vindictive or mean or were Karofsky.

And then Sam would help Mike, whether he wanted it or not.

(If he truly didn't want it Sam would just guilt trip him for that time they accidentally flushed Zizes phone down the toilet, and all would be well).

See, he had this figured all out. This was new Phase Two. Sam liked new Phase Two.

They entered the classroom just in time for Zizes to finish telling Quinn off (Quinn was scary but she should know better than to deal with Zizes after the Lucy-Caboosey thing, honestly) as to why she should be there. Perfect timing on their part; now Sam and Karofsky didn't even have to do anything. Quinn looked like she was going to put up another fight and Zizes just gave her The Look. Capitalization intended. It was the _"Oh really, you still want to burden us with you mindless drivel we all know is unimportant? Does your ego hurt? I bet it hurts. Please,_ ** _please_** _give us more words with which we can mock you because that is honestly all that will happen if you keep talking. You cannot win. The idea that you_ ** _think_** _you can still win is immensely pathetic and we are all laughing at you for still having hope. Seriously,_ ** _stop talking_** _."_ look.

Sam was not the one who entitled The Look. Yes, it was appropriate, despite how long it was, but he did not name it.

Santana did.

Sam wasn't nearly that suicidal.

Quinn snapped her mouth shut (familiar with The Look) and Sam decided to give Kurt a look of his own, one that hopefully said something along the lines of _"I know what you know and you suck for keeping it from me"._ He wasn't as effective as Zizes, but Sam thought he got the point across. Kurt raised his eyebrows and gave the barest tilt of his head (which Sam was taking as a super apology, and he wasn't seeing things or making it up, so shut up anybody who thought that).

"So," Kurt began, war meeting totally started. "We're all here for the same reason."

No one said anything to the contrary, because they _were_ , and Kurt continued, "We need damage control, and obviously some help from the outside is necessary because this sit-back-and hope-they'll-work-it-out thing isn't working. We need a plan but first-" He turned to Quinn. "We need to know everything that happened."

Okay, Sam was already lost.

They? What did Kurt mean by _"they"_? Obviously one was Mike. Was the other one making Mike sad? That was why-

Oh, wait. Puck. They had mentioned his name right? Sam had only stopped and listened because Karofsky had, and then he heard Mike's name, he hadn't even registered Puck's because-

Alright, cool. Puck had something to do with this. Made sense, Sam had _thought_ this had something to do with Puck. Just…what?

It had to be different than last time. If it was the same as last time Mike would have just told Sam. Not Karofsky.

Wait. Backtrack.

Mike was having problems with Puck. Karofsky knew. He knew because Mike had told him.

And…yes, that still stung. But whatever, sulking wasn't going to help anyone.

So Mike had problems with Puck. And then, whatever those problems were, they had gotten worse. They made Mike sad. Puck had made Mike sad, somehow.

Alright, cool. Sam was getting somewhere.

And Karofsky…Kurt and Zizes weren't surprised that Karofsky was there. They were surprised Sam was _with_ him, but Karofsky being involved…

So they knew that Karofsky knew too, and they probably knew _what_ Karofsky knew, and for whatever reason they were cool with it. Tina and Quinn were obviously confused but trusted Kurt enough not to question it, so Sam celebrated the fact that at least there were other people who didn't know everything but…

It was sitting-back time. Quinn was going to explain things anyway, maybe that would help. Scratch that, it _would_ help.

Man, sometimes he was dumb.

Quinn smoothed out the front of her dress, a nervous habit. "I messed up."

Zizes, never one to miss an opportunity to snipe, rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we got that."

"Shut up," Quinn spat, but there was no real heat to it. She was too mad at herself for…whatever. "I was trying to help them out, get Puck back on the right track but then…" she shrugged hopelessly. "He was hurt. He was hurt and bitter and actually _feeling_ something and just wanted to unload right?"

Tina stepped in, eyes concerned. "What does this have to do with Mike?"

Yes, please, someone explain this. Sam didn't know what was going on.

Puck was the sad one? Quinn was trying to get Puck to do something (because he couldn't do it on his own, see Kurt's statement) and he was sad and…what?

Sam glanced to his side to see how Karofsky was taking this, but the guy (damn it all) was absorbing everything just fine. If anything he mimicked Tina's concerned look, eyebrows appropriately furrowed, eyes locked on Quinn as he took it all in. Because he had the missing piece to the puzzle. Clearly that was more important than Sam had thought it was.

_Damn it._

"Mike," Quinn sighed and Sam focused on her again, making sure he took in every detail. "I didn't know," she began again. "I didn't know how hurt Puck was; I didn't think it was that deep-"

Cue Lauren. "Because you're stupid."

"Shut it Zizes," Quinn snapped, frustration spilling over, and she rubbed the side of her head. "I just thought I could set him straight and then, just so he couldn't screw anything up, I would immediately get Chang- I mean," She took a breath. "I could get _Mike_ into the picture so Puck wouldn't wander away again or have time to think it over or just, you know-"

"Screw it up?" Kurt offered, and Quinn shot him a wounded look, frowning.

Sam would admit it, Quinn was kind've crazy. Don't get him wrong, she was awesome when she wanted to be, but she was also capable of super crazy un-fun times. Despite this, and some obvious bad decisions, Sam still felt kind've bad for her. She knew she screwed up; they didn't need to rub it in anymore.

This was probably the safest it was going to get for him to talk, because they were still all in the dark, so Sam prompted Quinn. "So you got Mike into the picture…"

She shook her head. "He came right on time. Just as Puck was declaring him a waste of his effort, saying he was so very unimportant and easy to replace. You know, just the usual stuff."

Sam wasn't the smartest guy, but that did _not_ sound like the usual stuff. He was beginning to understand why Mike had taken moping to full time. Puck, that jerk had-

Wait. Puck had been sad. And then he had gotten bitter and said mean things because he was…trying to get over something Mike did?

This.

Was.

Stupid.

_Mike_ had been the one with problems. How could both Mike _and_ Puck be having problems with each other at the _same time_? It didn't make any sense!

Whatever expression the on his face was had apparently been appropriate because no one else had given him a second glance, too busy sighing or scowling or rubbing the side of their head. Even Sam could see things were not good. So he didn't know the big secret, he didn't understand what the hell was going on but he _did_ know that Mike liked Puck a lot. For reasons Sam did not understand, but Puck could get away with a lot of crap with Mike and Mike, damn him, never complained. Through thick or thin he _liked_ Puck, and this…

This was shit. There was no other way of saying it. This was total garbage. It didn't matter what the problem was _before_ because as far as Mike knew Puck had abandoned him and clearly that wasn't the case. This was a misunderstanding that needed to be fixed.

Frustrated with himself, Sam put the question out to people he knew were smarter. "So how do we make it better?"

It was Karofsky who responded immediately, which surprised the hell out of Sam. "Can it be made better?"

"Dude," Sam replied. "Of course it can. Those two have put up with _way_ too much crap to end it now."

Mike was a saint, if they could just make him see that Puck was having issues he didn't know how to deal with that would totally help out like, a lot.

Quinn, tired of holding back, finally asked. "Why is he here?"

Clearly, she meant Karofsky, and Sam smiled despite the situation, because he knew something she didn't know.

"Don't worry, he's cool. Mike likes him." Sam paused, and added (with a wink, to show he was confident and knew things). "Like, a lot."

The last part was so no one would question Karofsky's authenticity, because Sam was a good partner in crime and totally had Karofksy's back, even if he didn't like him, because he was cool like that. Also, no one would doubt he knew things. Check him out, thinking on the fly.

He was so cool.

His explanation…yeah, it doesn't get the responses he was expecting. To be honest, Sam wasn't expecting _any_ responses, just some _"yeah, okay, cool"_ nodding and then they would move on because Mike was a nice guy and they all knew that and Mike being friends with Karofsky shouldn't be that much of a surprise. Zizes was the only one to react appropriately with apathetic silence. Kurt raised his eyebrows; clearly shocked before something dawned on him, and then he joined Zizes in normal-people land, where normal things happened and they didn't act weirdly when normal things happened, because they were _normal_.

It was Tina and Quinn who seemed to be stuck, incredulous looks plastered on their faces while they stared at Karofsky, minds _clearly_ somewhere else and the other jock struggled not to fidget and Sam, deciding to be nice, stepped in to take the attention off of him.

"It's not all that surprising. Karofsky sucks _way_ less than he did last year."

"Watch it Evans," Karofsky muttered, though he was too nervous to really mean it, Sam wasn't sure _why_.

"Seriously, Mike's a good guy, why wouldn't he-?"

Kurt had a patient look on his face when he interrupted. "Sam, darling, why don't you just quit while you're ahead now-"

"What?" Sam asked, because _come on_. "No way, they're being stupid."

" _Oh_ ," Tina muttered, like she finally got it (and people called Sam dumb, clearly he was a winner among this crowd) and looked at Kurt expectantly, who for once, did not seem keen on confirming whatever it is she was looking for.

Well screw it, Sam would; they really needed to move on.

"Yes," he said, pointing to her, and Quinn balked, and then Karofsky looked startled, and Kurt and Zizes were confused and then Sam just wanted to throw up his hands in the air and be done with these people because _they were stupid._

"This is not a big deal," he sighed, running a hand across his face. "Can we actually focus on what's important here?"

When his suggestion was met with blank stares (except Karofsky who was still frozen), Sam elaborated. "Puck and Mike."

Sam looked around, helpless. "Anybody?"

That was why they were here, wasn't it?

But Quinn and Tina were too focused on Karofsky, for some odd reason, who looked like he really, _really_ wanted to be somewhere else, and Sam couldn't help but think he dropped the ball on this one. Instead of begrudgingly accepting Karofsky and moving on they couldn't keep there eyes off him.

Might have oversold it with the wink.

Okay, he wasn't cool.

"Guys," Sam whined, and they snapped back to him, awesome, maybe they were ready to get continue. "We cool now?"

"Are you serious?" Quinn asked, and Sam knew they were nowhere _close_ to continuing.

"Yes?" Sam said, because he was always one for trying, and Quinn huffed and turned towards Kurt, who was displaying his very best poker face.

"Is _that_ why he's here?" She looked back at Karofsky. "And Mike, he knew, and-"

"How did Mike know?" Tina asked, and Zizes snorted.

"They have a network, they _all know_."

They all know what? What did Mike _know?_ What the hell was going on?

Quinn scoffed, "Then wouldn't Santana be here?" Her eyes widened as soon as she finished saying it, like she just figured something out and Tina was half a second behind her, both of them pointing at Karofsky with new secret knowledge they weren't going to share and _what the hell had Sam started?_

"Oh my God that makes so much sense," Tina muttered, holding the sides of her head like the knowledge was about to explode out of her brain and Quinn just nodded, because clearly it was logical, whatever _it_ was, and damn it this was stupid.

Sam actually felt a little bad for whatever it was he had done. He didn't- he had no words for how much he did _not_ know.

Karofsky, to his credit, had not tried to verbally (or physically) tear them to pieces for all the staring and _"oh my God-ing"_ they were doing. He just looked stuck, like he didn't know what to do and he wouldn't look at Sam, or at any of them.

Zizes, on the other hand, was starting to freak Sam out, because she kept switching between studying him intently and threatening to rip his arms off with her _eyes_ , and Sam was really a big fan of his arms staying _exactly_ where they were thank you very much and he didn't have anything for her to study and _what was going on?_

Karofosky turned to Sam, his first movement since whatever Sam did.

"How did you-?" he started to ask but Tina interrupted him without knowing it, still off in her own little world.

"He's gay," she whispered, and _damnit_ , Sam was ending that shit once and for all.

"Knock it off," he attempted/failed to growl. "I thought we had gotten over that crap last year." He pointed to himself. "Not gay, not bagging on it." Sam looked at Kurt, just so he'd know because Kurt was a cool guy and a good guy and didn't deserve to feel bad about himself. "But I. Am not. Gay."

Sam rocked back on his heels, glad to have gotten that done with, and the incredulous stares were back in full force, this time including Karofsky.

Kurt was the first one to break the silence.

"Oh Sam," he said, half-fond, half-exasperated look on his face. "I love you so much."

And Sam, knowing completely what he meant, grinned at the compliment. "Love you too Kurt."

Because he was secure enough to admit it.

"What the hell is going on?" Quinn asked, not following the bromance, and Sam fought the urge to fist pump.

Finally, someone had asked. Now he could get an explanation.

It was Zizes who shattered the illusion, ruining all the credibility Sam had been working for in a single sentence. "You don't know anything, do you."

It wasn't a question. If it was a question she would have been waiting for an answer, but she wasn't because she knew the answer and now Sam was going to get kicked out of the fix-Mike-and-Puck meeting and that wasn't cool. He had worked really hard to get here. Or like, to not-ask questions. And that had been _hard_.

He tried for it anyway. "I know things," he said, doing his best not to fidget. "I know all the things that everyone else here knows." He shifted his weight to the side, trying not to look at the floor. "All of them."

And just like that the tension in the room lessened, except for Karofsky, who was still looking at Sam in wonder.

"Jesus Sam," Quinn whispered, pushing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "You are unbelievable."

"I know things," he insisted, because he _did_ , like he knew he wasn't gay and-

Wait.

Rewind.

They weren't talking about him. Tina wasn't paying attention to Karofsky she was thinking about…

Holy.

CRAP.

She meant _Karofsky_.

…and he _hadn't_ punched her in the face.

Sam wanted to pat him on the back for showing such restraint. He really _had_ turned over a new leaf. Mike was right after all-

" _How did you know?"_

He had asked that because…he had thought Sam had known that and how _had_ Sam known that and _holy_ ** _shit_**.

Karofsky was gay.

...

Things made _so much sense_ now!

Like, why he was mad all the time and why he had picked on Kurt and why Mike would be extra nice to him because Mike was a nice guy so Mike knew but if Mike knew and he was talking to Karofsky about what made him sad and not Sam and it had to do with Puck and-

Okay, honestly all the puzzle pieces were there but Sam's head hurt so he couldn't figure it out right now but holy shit, holy shit Karofsky was gay and then Sam had winked but that wasn't _why_ -

"I was conspiring!" Sam said, and he wasn't even sure if he had interrupted something, they might have been talking, but he had their attention now so he was going to go ahead and talk anyway. "With the wink, because Mike trusted him and you needed to know Mike trusted him so you wouldn't kick him out because he is my partner in crime and you do _not_ abandon your crime partners. That is a rule. Undisputed fact." He turned towards Karofsky. "Tell them."

Karofsky proved to be no help which was okay because Zizes felt like talking. "So you didn't know."

"No," Sam said, turning towards her. "I mean, I do _now_ , but I didn't, oh-" and it dawned on him and he turned back towards Karofsky. "I won't tell anyone. And they-" He pointed to Quinn and Tina, because Kurt and Zizes apparently knew _everything_ , "They won't tell anyone either. You-" He pointed to Karofsky, and then he looked at Quinn and Tina. " _He_ is one of us now, okay?"

They nodded, and Kurt, surprisingly enough, looked incredibly pleased by this turn of events. It didn’t matter though, Karofsky just nodded, tension finally melting out of his shoulders and Sam smiled because hey- Karofsky wouldn't be a dick anymore.

"Now," Sam said, because they had shit to do. "Let's focus on why we're here."

Zizes laughed. "You have no idea how stupid that sounds coming from you."

"Hey-" Sam started, but he didn't need to bother because he had a partner in crime and partners in crime _always_ had your back.

"Knock it off Zizes," Karofsky…okay, _Dave_ muttered, and Sam grinned up at him.

Life was so much better now. Like, it was totally weird, and made no sense, but most stuff didn't make sense so Sam just accepted the fact that it was better and moved on. Things usually worked out a lot better when he thought about it like that.

So…

Go team.

Yes, go team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if the last part works at all, but it had just been so tempting, and once I got started it was hard to stop so I figured, eh, what the hell, it's my story, might as well shoot for the moon. I like it this way (not that I'm not, like, ridiculously biased or anything), and Sam, oh Sam, he was stupendously fun to write this chapter.
> 
> The title comes from a comic done by The Oatmeal, used to describe the use of the word "literally". With Sam being Sam, it felt appropriate.


	12. Weathering the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike expresses certain feelings on certain things. Instead of listening, Tina decides to stage an intervention.
> 
> Because past experience dictates only the most wonderful of successes in that field.

There was some knocking on his door, but because Mike had decided to be in a pit of depression (and because only his mom was home, and she wouldn't ream him out for it) he was not going to answer it.

"Mike."

No Tina. There would be no more talking. There would be no more _feelings_. Today, today was all about him _not_ interacting with other people.

The second set of knocks were a little more insistent.

" _Mi-iiiike_ ," Tina whined, and the accused dancer shook his head at the door.

"No," he declared, narrowing his eyes at his gateway to the outside world. "That will not work."

He gave the door one last glare to let it know who was boss before seeking out his- where was it? Oh, desk.

"You know why?" Mike continued, dipping his spoon into a pint of coffee ice cream. "Because today is moping day. _Today_ I am going to mope and I am going to sulk and I am going- and this entirely theoretically only in the way that it saves my masculinity, because it's totally going to happen - I am going to cry." He shoved a spoonful of the creamy goodness into his mouth and savored the sweet taste followed by that bite of caffeine, _so good_.

"And then?" he said after a few more spoonfuls, because he had kind've forgotten where he was in his monologue. "I am done. I am done with this. _This_." He motioned to himself and the chaotic room around him, blanket fort off kilter (shut up, it was for comfort) and empty Oreo and ice cream containers littering the floor betwixt his sporadically placed tissues, which he _might_ have been throwing at the tv when the characters did something particularly Puck-like. He motioned to all of it with dramatically spread arms, as though Tina could see him.

"There will be no more… _this_ ," he declared. "I'm sick of it. Sick of being sick and sad. So I have decided," he explained, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and talking around it as he settled on the edge of his bed. "Today there will be far too many calories inhaled and ridiculous pajama pants worn and brains rotted out from horrible, over-sappy romance movies. And then," he said, thrusting his spoon in the air to emphasize this. "I will set fire to _all_ the stupid poems and flowers and pictures and _all of it_ and I will move on and be _AMAZING_."

He had all the items in question packed up neatly in a box under his bed, including some of Puck's old t-shirts that had made their way over to his house, and that spy equipment, _and_ that list of pawn shops that Mike never should have kept but kept anyway because he got a crowd of strangers to think Puck was stupid and _for no other reason_.

Mike shook his head and tried to get back on track, waving a hand at his closed door, not even sure if Tina was still on the other side or not.

"I have decided amazement _will_ ensure. I will be unable to achieve higher levels of day-to-day life involvement for I will have reached the top. I will see the mountain's peak," he declared, hopping atop his bed, waving his spoon-hand in a mad flourish. "I will perch upon its edge with my arms spread wide, banner waving and trumpets blowing, hollering into the wind because I am a _winner_."

"And then," he continued, collapsing his legs underneath him and flopping back onto his bed, ankles crossed. "When the metaphor has been achieved and I muster the courage to move on, to _live_ because this is high school god damnit and clearly, _not the end of the world_ ," he pointed at the door. "I will go forth and be the most stunning example of human existence that the peons of _peons_ have ever dreamed to conceive." He threw an arm over his eyes dramatically, were Rachel Berry there she would have been proud. "Their eyes will burn, how mighty my radiance, and I will step upon their broken egos and crushed dreams and all their depravity and leap into Godliness."

"And Noah, _goddamn_ , Puckerman will be so depressed, will so _rue_ the day he spurned my amazement-" He paused and threw a glare at the door. "Despite the fact I earned my fate, shut up," and then continued. "That he will be _forced_ to cry for the rest of his miserable life, _that_ is how stupendous I intend to be."

He slammed his half-eaten pint of ice cream onto the nightstand as he continued to contemplate his life, waving a finger around as though conducting an imaginary symphony. "You know like, this feeling and experience stuff, it makes you stronger. I think I'm going to really grow from this." He patted his chest. "Like, internally. I feel I have grown. This will be the depth of emotions for me to draw on when I need to be all artistic and crap." He turned and buried his head into his pillow, mumbling stubbornly into its soft and caring folds, "I will be glorious."

There were a few painful seconds on completion of his speech where Mike almost believed he had given it to an empty doorway. Which was sad, because he had worked really hard on it, but after an unsteady pause there was an inevitable, if undeserved, sigh. He could hear Tina thump her forehead against the outside of his door, a universal sign of self disparagement. "Okay, so we clearly left you alone for too long."

"Shut up," he mumbled, shaking a fist at his door. He could survive for ten minutes without someone else's interference. Because he was _amazing_.

It was like she hadn't even listened to his spiel at all.

"Dude, I thought that was good."

Mike's head perked up instinctively at that voice before he remembered he was supposed to be moping and happiness had no place in that and shoved his head back down.

Was that _Sam_? Why was Sam here? Judging by the volume, his comment hadn't been aimed at the door (and therefore Mike) but to Tina or…whoever else was outside of his room. Mike should probably ask. So he could know who he was ignoring/making a fool of himself in front of (as though that were new _hahaha_ \- oh, his life hurt sometimes).

"It was…different."

This time Mike didn't feel bad for taking interest in his doorjamb.

 _Dave_? Why the hell was he-? _Who else did they have back there?_

"Is Puck back there?" Mike mumbled, half-afraid to ask and already burying his head underneath a pillow. "No wait, he would have already called me a stupid girl by now, because _that's what he does_."

Or he just skipped the middle man of critiquing Mike's behavior and attacked Mike _himself_ , like how unimportant and insignificant he was and clearly, people should only hang out with him to get a good lay. Or if they needed help reaching something up high. Or needed another dude to stand in the background and _smile_.

That was the accumulation of his positive assets. He literally had _nothing_ else.

Except whatever Tina saw in him, though to his knowledge she could find being tall and smiling the most desirable qualities in a man.

That was it; all other tall-and-smileys were going down.

"You two," and that was Tina's take-charge voice, which only Mike seemed familiar with. "Stop encouraging him."

Maybe that was something else she liked. A man she could order around.

_It all makes sense now._

"Does this happen often?"

That was Karofsky again. Seemed kind of rude of them to have a conversation about him when he was _right there_.

Sure, there was a door in the way, but sound carried _damnit_.

"Only when…" Tina began, but Sam was the one to bring it home.

"On Puck Days," the blond declared, and there was a steady pause of none of them asking for a definition of the so-declared "Puck Days" because apparently _all_ of them were familiar with the days and the behavior they inspired and _clearly_ everything in the whole wide world made the most _epic_ of sense.

Mike reached out for his pint of ice cream. Ice cream wasn't confusing. Or mean to him.

Ice cream was his friend.

"That's it," Tina said, annoyed, and then the door burst/not-really-it-just-opened-slowy-but-burst-sounded-more-dramatic open, revealing things 1, 2, and 3. Tina marched into the room first, the leader of their little expedition and Mike kind've (okay, totally) pulled his legs up on the bed to give her room to sit down, all the while giving the appearance of absolute apathy and taking in another spoonful of ice cream.

"Dude," Sam cheered, eyes glued to the area of poorly draped sheets and mountains of pillows. "Blanket fort, _awesome_."

Without looking up from his dessert Mike offered up his hand in primo high-five position, pretty sure Sam didn't bother looking his way either as they completed the maneuver, too in awe of Mike's blanket masterpiece. Tina made and unimpressed sound while Dave lingered near the door, uncertain of entering such sacred territory. Mike semi-motioned him in with his spoon (might as well, but not all the way, he was still objecting this) and narrowed his eyes at Tina. "Anyone else coming out of your clown car of unnecessary nosiness?"

"Think of it as totally validated concern," Tina chirped back at him, far too smug, and in the background Sam looked back and contemplated the door in confusion, pondering the existence of a clown car and Dave shook his head 'no', somehow having figured this out.

Really? Just- _really_?

Those two were like, the most opposite like opposites (so they were both guys and they both played football and they both liked video games and whatever, his point _still stands_ ) so it would- so somehow _they_ had come together when Mike wasn't looking and like, understood each other, and became bros, and Sam didn't hate Dave and Dave wasn't like _"Ph-shaw Sam Evans, waste of space, beneath me, dear God Mike, why do you hang out with such stupid people?"_ and they, in just that one little interaction, had a working relationship. They were cool. They were chill.

Why was Puck making everything so difficult?

 _Damnit_ , this was the kind of crap Mike was supposed to be done doing.

Mike sighed and went for another bite of ice cream, only to come back with an empty spoon because Dave had _oh_ -so casually taken his pint away and set it aside and now Mike had no distractions and three people staring him down with the _"This will not stand"_ face.

"This _will_ stand," he informed them anyway, because he had to try, and he didn't even get a confused face from Sam, he didn't even get to object when shoes were forced upon his feet and a sweatshirt thrown over his head and Oreos- _noooo,_ _Oreos_ \- were stolen from his grasp and he was hauled out to Tina's car, moping and whining and refusing to surrender or aid their horrendous deeds. Which, you know, turned out to not matter all that much because Dave just carried him out of the house.

Mike wasn't sure what part of it disturbed him most when his mom waved goodbye to him from the door, far too cheerful for someone who had just witnessed a kidnapping.

See earlier statement, ice cream was his friend. His current "friends" who were stealing him away somewhere against his will and made fun of his pants, they weren't ice cream so…clearly, not friends. And because it was moping day Mike didn't feel bad for thinking that thought at all. Nor did he think about buying his "friends" ice cream because of it.

Nor did he wonder about where they were going.

Because his moping could be mobile, and that's just how he rolled.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Surprise of all surprises, they ended up at the high school and honestly, why the hell didn’t they ever bother locking the doors on the weekend? Like, the glee club practiced on weekends all the time, but it was never scheduled. They didn’t really have permission, but then again they obviously didn’t _need_ it because the building wasn't ever freakin' _locked_. Let alone the auditorium, full of expensive sound equipment and light equipment and microphones and props and costumes and sets and a bunch of other things that were probably very expensive. No, by all means, let's put a bunch of _teenagers_ from _Ohio_ on the honor system. Clearly everything will turn out okay.

The most frustrating part about all this, was that it _had_.

Sort of made Mike want to punch everybody in the face. Not the school administrators specifically, just _everyone_.

"Take me _hoooome,_ " Mike was whining, drawing out the 'o' sound for as long as possible to add to the annoyance. If he had to suffer, _they_ had to suffer. EVERYONE WOULD SUFFER.

Except he couldn't _reach_ everyone so he had to just stick to Dave and Sam (because Tina had ducked out of sight as soon as they hit the hallways, running off somewhere that Mike should probably care more about).

"Seriously guys," the dancer began, swiping at Dave's back because the moment it had become obvious Mike had no intention of walking Karofsky had just slung him over his shoulder while Sam made unhelpful (and unhumorous, as far as everyone who wasn't Sam was concerned) commentary. "I have money. I will _give_ you money. Or better yet," he twisted his head to get a better look at Sam who- yes, he had a camera. Where the hell had he gotten a camera?

Whatever, that wouldn't deter Mike’s negotiations. "Ice cream?"

Because Sam loved ice cream almost as much as he loved painting things, speaking of which-

"We could repaint my room."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, forgetting his job and dropping the camera down in favor of looking at Mike himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet in half-contained enthusiasm. "Dude, we could do _so_ many colors."

"Focus," Dave ordered, giving Mike's leg a warning pat and Sam, curse him, remembered what he was supposed to be doing and pulled the camera back up, shaking his head sadly.

"Sorry Mike," he said, twisting the camera a bit. "Orders are orders."

"Besides," Dave continued. "This is to help you."

"Are you going to punch Puck in the face?" Mike asked, half serious and a hundred percent hopeful. "Because that _would_ make me feel better. But you didn't have to drag me out of the house to do it; you could have just taped it." He tilted his head, feeling the blood creep ever so slowly into his brain. "And then it would be immortalized _forever_. I could watch it, whenever I want." He waved a hand at their blond cameraman. "Is that what we're doing?"

"No one's getting punched in the face," Dave muttered, and Sam wasn't entirely successfully in withholding a depressed sigh at the thought (honestly, Sam was becoming number one right now, with his love for blanket forts combined with his want for Puck-related violence).

"Just a little punching?" Mike asked, still optimistic. "You don't have to go for the face, the stomach and balls are also acceptable."

" _Dude_ ," was the wounded reply from Sam- okay, so there was the line for Mike.

Mike could feel as Dave sighed, all slow and gradual-like but not leaden with annoyance. Just, almost-there-ness.

The-things-I-do-for-you-ness.

Stop-being-so-silly-ism.

"No violence," he asserted quietly, and then there was turning and a doorway (which was a vindictive jerk-face and smacked Mike in the head) and a few more steps and then Mike was plopped back onto his feet, gently pushed into a chair situated in the middle of an empty classroom. All the desks pushed against the walls, leaving his position isolated. Directly behind his chair, aimed at the wall to his right, was one of those digital projectors; currently dazzling the blank wall with a big square of white light.

There were some footsteps at the door as Tina re-entered the scene, smiling and wiggling her fingers and taking a seat off to the side in front of Mike, right next to a tripod Sam had secured his camera to, and was now attempting (and failing, it was a little endearing to watch Dave help the blond untangle himself from all the wires) to hook up his camera to a laptop beside him, placed on another desk.

Once Sam had been successfully freed from his electronic cord confinements, Tina took over camera/laptop hookup duty (with Sam mildly pouting in the background, arms folded in protest) while Dave checked the connections on yet _another_ laptop, this one, it seemed, feeding into the projector. When they all get settled (and Sam had snuck Mike some Oreos on the down low, though to be honest Mike wasn't sure how unplanned that was because otherwise he would have made a break for the door) Tina pulled out a handful of note cards, combing through them until she found the appropriate one.

As she opened her mouth, Mike said, "No."

And then, as she gave him her best disgruntled face and Sam pouted and Dave gave him a patient look, Mike waved them off. "No. Maybe yes before, but there are cameras that are hooked up to computers and given that I _do have_ just the tiniest slivers of self preservation I'm going to go ahead and pass on whatever it is we're-"

"Do you trust me?"

Tina cocked her head to the side, innocent, but taking away none of the weight of her words. Right to the point, right to the core of the issue, because yes, this whole deal stunk of bad ideas and possible misery, but he did, and always would, trust Tina. Hell, he trusted all of them. And Karofsky trusted the hell out of him, the very least Mike could do was hear them out. To give…whatever it was they were doing a shot.

Mike nodded and a smile broke across Tina's face, relieved, and she motioned towards Sam with her index cards. "You want to feel better right? You want to get rid of all-"

"This," Sam interjected happily, in reference to the dancer's earlier comments, and Tina nodded.

"Yeah, you want to get rid of all that bad energy right? That weight. Well, you're going to do it. You're going to get rid of it all and we'll record it and then we'll destroy it; destroy the physical manifestation of this _thing_ that's weighing you down and…" She shrugged hopelessly, and something in Mike's chest tightened because they were so thoughtful, they were trying _so_ hard- "Honestly, it won't make it all go away just like that. But we figured," and she motioned to her two co-conspirators, both agreeing, both _trying_ \- "That maybe it could help. Just a little. And if it did, then it's definitely worth trying. Okay?" She smiled again and damn, _damn_ he loved her.

"Okay," Mike echoed, promising to match their efforts, to try as hard as they did and Tina gave him a knowing smile, corners of her mouth tucked up coyly as she looked at him over the edge of her cards.

After that her eyes went back down, studying, getting into gear. Preparing to get rid of the weight of Puck.

"Alright," Tina chirped, and that was Dave's cue to do some button clicking and suddenly the blank wall that was became decorated with a large picture of booty camp, when Mike and Mr. Schue had to stay behind to work with the…slower-learning dancers.

Of course, this was just the nice way of saying Finn and Puck. In the background Mike could see Mr. Schue talking to Finn about something, maybe the proper footwork for a jazz square, _again_ , but the picture mostly focused on Mike and Puck, the dancer trying desperately to show his mohawked-friend how to do a certain move, almost certain at the time that the information was going right through one ear and out the other, because honestly, Puck sucked.

 _So_ many times Mike had to stay behind after rehearsal to re-run a certain part of a routine that was giving Puck trouble. _So_ many patient nights where they'd work for hours and then _poof_ , it would magically come together, and Puck would buy them dinner at McDonalds (because Mike had _earned_ it) and ward off any of the glee-haters as Mike tried to catch up on homework and eat and talk all at the same time. They'd stay for as long as they could, because Mike knew Puck wasn't always fond of home, even if he never said it, he just, knew. And Mike would get home late at night and sometimes he would practice his dancing and sometimes he would try to figure out singing and sometimes he would just laugh at the comics that Puck had drawn and stealthed into his notebook, adventures of dancing ninjas that saved the world alongside swashbuckling pirates, gifted with melodious tones and fancy-free footwork. The ladies (and later on, the gents) threw themselves down at their feet, but the ninjas and the pirates were too busy for things like that. There were too many things to do. Too many shows to give.

And now, to think back on it, maybe it all stood for something. Something other than Puck being bored and wanting to _"Share his artistic talents with the obviously un-gifted"_.

"So," Tina began, somehow recognizing Mike's little trip down memory lane. "What's this a picture of?"

Well, obviously- "Teaching Puck how to dance."

Tina rolled her eyes. "And what do you think of when you _see_ it?"

"Is the next question, 'How does it make you feel?' because honestly-"

Her eyes narrowed. "Mike-"

"Ninjas," was the first word out of Mike's mouth, but then he recovered. "And uh…pirates. McDonalds, dancing, and jazzsquares. Lots and lots of jazzsquares."

"Okay," Tina replied, and apparently his answer made her very happy. "Now how does it make you feel?"

"I knew it," Mike glared at her, but there was no heat behind it. She just shrugged innocently and he got no backup from the other two jocks so he decided to continue, giving a small shrug of his own. "I dunno. Like, feel seeing it? Or just like…" he cocked his head to the side. "Safe, I guess. And happy."

He turned to get a better look at the picture beside him, Puck's eyes more attentive than Mike had ever thought they could be, studying the dancer and attempting to mimic the move. Not frustrated, not angry, just…focused. On Mike.

"Those were good times," Mike mumbled, thinking back on the pile of comics he had secured in the bottom drawer of his desk, far away from the things he had doomed to fire. Those were a good laugh; there was no point in destroying them. They weren't important.

"How about this one?" Tina said, and Mike realized that they were moving on now, and no one was staying behind just so he could daydream. He shook his head and looked back up at the wall, flushing once he took in the picture.

"Where did-?"

"Kurt," Tina and Sam answered at the same time, and Dave just shrugged, leaving Mike with nothing but an embarrassing picture of him and Puck during one of Artie's Halo-a-thon's. It was a guy's night (Kurt included despite an impressive amount of protesting, Blaine had dug out the puppy-eyes because he wanted Kurt to spend time with him), with two Xbox's hooked up so they could have team-on-team death matches, red vs blue. Unfortunately with all of them present there were nine guys and only eight controllers, meaning one person had to sit out every round. While Kurt had graciously volunteered to sit out, well, _all_ of them, they had ultimately decided they would just take turns.

Which meant when it inevitably became Puck's turn he refused to be completely without entertainment, and since a Puck without entertainment was pretty much hell for the rest of them…

Yeah, the fact that it was a unanimous decision for Mike to play that round from Puck's lap, while at the time was a necessity, had still been…creepy. But Puck had been appeased and no one had spitballs or rubber bands or paper clips constantly hurled at their faces for a good ten minutes, so he couldn't really complain.

The picture Kurt had snagged (and that would explain why he had died so many times that round, he wasn't even touching the controller) featured Puck sitting on the ground with his back resting against Artie's bed, arms wrapped around Mike's waist as the dancer leaned into him, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on the game, Puck's head resting lazily right behind his ear, nuzzling that spot, just so he could dole out unhelpful and unasked for criticisms.

Mike flushed as he remembered the feeling, how awkward it had felt at the time but…well, nice, to be held (because he had always done the holding with Tina) and how safe and comfortable it had been. How…not-so-bad, it was.

Or at the time, it had been not-so-bad but he wanted it _now_ , he wished he could have-

 _Damnit_.

"And how does this make-?"

"Sad."

She paused, actually, all three of them held still and Mike could feel their eyes boring into the side of his face as he studied at the picture. He tried to shrug; he did, because he needed to. But it was hard.

"Just-" He sucked in a breath, shaking his head and looking back at Tina, imploring her to stop, _please_ , he got it, he was a screw up. "Sad."

But because this was supposed to be painful, it was supposed to just…rip the scab off, Tina went ahead and elaborated. "Sad because of something you lost?"

" _Yes_." And no, no he would not cry, _damnit_.

That may have been on the plan for the day but he wasn't going to do that now, not on tape, he didn't care-

It got worse before it got better. And that better be frickin' _true_ because Mike would be pissed if he went through all this shit only for it to pull him down deeper.

"…I think we're done with the pictures," Tina finally allowed, Mike looking up from his wringing hands as Dave pulled down the photo, leaving that large square of light again. Somewhat comforting in its bleakness.

"Almost done," Tina promised and Mike knew she wasn't lying, not that he would have ever thought she would just- the truth there, the open honesty.

They were almost done.

"But this is the hard part," she explained, pulling out another flashcard and tapping them against her knees. "You need to tell us how you feel. Tell us what went wrong."

"Oh," Mike mumbled, running a hand across his face, feeling tired. Just, really tired. "Is that all?"

"Mike-" there was a warning sound, but he waved it off.

"No, no I get it. I can do this." He resituated himself in his chair, trying to sit a little taller, shaking out his shoulders and looking into the camera, into the thing they were going to destroy.

"So here's what happened, I guess." He turned his head towards the side, thinking, fingers tapping impatiently against the side of his chair.

"There's this guy. No, screw it, that sounds stupid." He took a breath and looked back at the camera. "There's Puck. And he's stupid and he's impulsive and he's...Puck but he's also…" he cursed under his breath. He didn't do this, he didn't _talk_ , that wasn't him but he-

"He's also _Puck_. And yeah he's dumb but he's… _Puck_ , and he does Puck-like things and sometimes they make me mad and I just want to kill him and sometimes they're dangerous and I want to tie him up in a corner full of soft and un-harmful things and make sure he'll never get hurt and sometimes…"

Mike's hands came up and he didn't know what to do with them so he ran them through his hair just to keep them occupied. "Sometimes he's just…the best right? In like, addition to you."

He quickly clarified and threw Tina a meaningful look, but she was only smiling, and that was _pride_ on her face, and it gave him the strength to continue. "But on top of this he's also…he's _Puck_ and I've known him forever so clearly," and he looked between Sam and Dave, trying to get some support. "Clearly that's like...that can't be right. I have to be mistaken because he…" Mike rubbed at his eyes again, trying to figure it out. "You do these things like investing heavily in someone and it's…what if it's for nothing right? What if you mean nothing because you're the nothing guy? Or the 'nice' guy and that's your label? That's what you've got. And 'nice' guys work for girls but they don't…"

Mike sighed and shook his head, looking back at the camera. "But that's not the point right? The point is that I had Puck, right there, right where I wanted him to be, but I didn't want…" his hands curled into a fist and he looked down at his shoes again, he didn't want to do this but he _did_ want to get better.

"I didn't want to put all of… _this_ ," he motioned to himself and _God_ , that was stupid, so stupid, no one would get that reference which was good because no one would _see_ that. "I didn't want to put it all on the line when I knew he wasn't going to be serious. That he just wanted…he wouldn't want what I wanted. And you know what?"

And no one was going to hold it against him for his throat catching on him or his eyes getting wet or his face getting hot because he trusted them and they trusted him and it _happened_. "I was right. He _doesn't_ want-"

Mike pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop something just like, ridiculously embarrassing from happening, but he kept going. Because if he didn't say it he never would. "And I probably deserved it right? I acknowledge that it's my fault. That I pushed. Even if I pushed more than necessary, even if I had _never_ had a shot I at least-"

More head shaking, he was a frickin' _champion_ of the pathetic head shake. He should have classes on its mastery.

"I don't know. I really _don't_ know, so here's the bottom line."

He locked his eyes with the camera one last time, trying to bring it all home. "Noah Puckerman is a stupid idiot, but he is _my_ stupid idiot and even if he doesn't think so, or _want_ it, he will always _be_ my stupid idiot, and he's just going to have to deal with that very unpleasant fact for the rest of his _days_. And..."

Mike squeezed his eyes closed, everything tense, almost done, almost done- "While I am almost _certain_ the fact he doesn't want me probably _won't_ hurt forever, and that this…knowledge has made me act…"

"Like a dick?" Sam supplied, and Mike let out a guffaw of laughter, pointing at Sam knowingly.

"Yeah, like a dick. I don't…" and this was it, this was the happy-but-sad part, this was the part where he had to let go and he hated it, but it was time. "I don't regret it. These feelings." He shrugged. "I mean, I _should_ , but I don't."

He gave the camera one last smile before turning it to Tina, who had given into the crying desire (it was kind of her thing and loved it, loved the tears, loved the sincerity and empathy) and was beaming, all out beaming with pride as he finished his heart-wrenching confession.

"The end," he declared, shaking a finger at the camera, and Sam hit a button, probably to stop just as Tina started clapping.

"That was amazing," she gushed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around his neck.

What it had _been_ was painful, but she didn't need him to tell her that. He didn't really need to tell any of them that. They just, they knew.

Dave was the one who broke them apart, tapping a finger against the side of his laptop pointedly, while the other hand fiddled with the keyboard. "Tina," he said, and that was it, no instructions no reasoning no…

Tina gave Mike one last squeeze and a kiss on his forehead before skipping back to her seat, motioning for Mike to turn his attention back towards the projector wall.

"This part's for your eyes only," she explained, clasping her hands in front of her chest. She looked like she was about to say something else but she bit her lip instead, reaching over to pull Sam away from his laptop, Dave herding both of them out of the room.

Well…that wasn't disconcerting _at all_.

Mike turned back towards his projected-wall, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what was going on.

What? Were there going to be more pictures? Was this cheer-up time? A cheer up before the breakdown? Mike would really enjoy a pallet cleanser right about now. Maybe some pictures of kittens. Or Brittney, playing with kittens. Ooo, _ooh_ , they could have an inspirational photo montage of all the happy-glee times to remind him of all the awesome things in life, or maybe there would be a _dance_ , Mike loved those or-

It wasn't a picture. It wasn't a slideshow either because Dave had opened up a media player, and Mike had about two seconds to process this before the wall was filled up with Puck, sitting in a chair in his very own abandoned classroom, looking grumpily at the camera.

The date at the bottom corner clearly said today, the time stamp, maybe recent, Mike couldn't tell because he couldn't tear his eyes from the video because he just-

He had the feeling he had just been bamboozled.

"This is stupid," Puck drawled, appearing completely relaxed were it not for the nervous twitch of his fingers, drumming against the edge of the chair.

Mike knew that, Mike had _done_ that-

"Puck-" and that sounded like Kurt, behind the camera, somehow mixing coaxing with threatening without any adverse reactions.

Puck threw a glare at him anyway. "This _is_ stupid," he threw his hands up. "I'm not smart. This would _probably_ work on a smart person like-" he cut himself off, kept himself from finishing and part of Mike wanted to be stupid enough to think Puck was going to say him and part of him thought that was especially pathetic and the other part of him really wanted to the first two parts to _shut the hell_ _up_ so they could all focus on the video.

"I'm not smart," Puck finished, shrugged his shoulders like it meant nothing, because he was a badass, but they knew. Mike and whoever was in Puck's room knew better.

"Puck." And that one was Finn which…it wasn't surprising. It _wasn't_ , they were best friends and hell, Mike had Sam on his detail, so why couldn't Finn be involved?

" _Fine_ ," Puck muttered, glancing off to the side. "So what, I just…"

"Say how you feel. Tell us what happened."

That prompting was unmistakably Quinn, and Mike didn't notice when he had become perched on the chair's plastic edge, fingers curled tight as he tried to anchor himself.

On screen Puck rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he mumbled, but it was pretty obvious he was going to what they asked. What they had asked Mike to do.

"So…I like Mike Chang. Or I did or…" he trailed off scratching the side of his head and Mike's heart sunk, it just, _crush_ \- "Or at least I'm _trying_ not to like him because…" he trailed off and looked into the distance trying to work it out in his head and Mike reminded himself to breathe again.

Stupid, _stupid_ , he was stupid-

Puck fiddled with his hands and avoided looking into the camera's lens. "Like, I… _like_ Mike a lot more than I am honestly comfortable with. Because he's a dude. He's a dude and he yells at me and he sometimes tries to strangle me in the not-sexy ways-" Mike choked; face lighting up, but his eyes stay glued to the screen. "But for some odd reason he's just…Mike." The teen on camera ducked his head in a way Mike would call bashful and Mike just wants to reach over and hug him, because obviously Puck would respond well to that, _stupid_ -

On screen, Puck continued. "And I _like_ hanging with him and he's not…bad to spend time with and yeah, he's good at making out and he looks good but it's not about that." He looked up at the camera seriously. "Not that it isn't great, because that's great but-"

Puck sighed, and the last time Mike had seen him this honest and heartfelt was when Puck had serenaded him, one-on-one.

And also, alsoalsoalso _alsoalsoalsoalso_ ** _alsoalso_ \- **Noah Puckerman, if this was in fact not an illusion, had just admitted to liking him. For _him_.

"I uh…" the teen struggled for words to say then rolled his eyes, suddenly annoyed with himself, then looked at the camera as though to challenge it, daring it to call him stupid.  "I have feelings for Mike Chang. I also have pants-feelings for him, but, strangely enough, that's less important. And that might sound stupid and it might, like, _be_ stupid, because the only way I could think of to like, keep him close was to make him riled, because when I made him mad he paid more attention to me and shut it Fabray," he threatened, jabbing a finger in what had to be the blonde's direction. "That is legitimate reverse psychology shit right there, and it worked, I don't care if it didn't work for the right reasons-"

"Focus Puck," came Kurt's very patient nudge to get back on track and Puck shrugged, remembering he didn't have anything to prove to his people, they were truly _his_ people and they didn't judge, they wouldn't turn on him.

Puck sighed and looked down at his nervous fingers, putting on his best apathetic mask when he looked back at the camera. "And he may not want me, and he may spend the rest of his life with that perfect little girlfriend of his and that-" Puck shook his head slowly, tightening his jaw. "Yeah, that sucks a hell of a lot and I guess it's partially my fault for not like…"

"Manning up and putting yourself out there?"

Had it come from anyone but Zizes, Puck would have probably stopped his speech to punch the commenter in the face. But it was and he loved her (would always love her) and he just gave her a devilish smirk, like he was proud to be there with her, that she had-

"Yeah," Puck said, puffing his chest out. "So I didn't do that. And it blew up in my face and like a _man_ ," he said this pointedly to where Mike assumed Zizes was. "I will own up to that fact. And even though it will _probably_ hurt for a very long time…"

Puck stopped then shrugged and decided to go a different approach, Mike's heart was in his throat at how close, how _stupidly_ alike they could feel but never _talk_ about it and-

"Mike Chang is mine," Puck declared. "And he might be uptight sometimes and too fond of yelling, but he's also like…" and this got quieter because Puck got more honest, and he was fidgeting again. "He's goofy, and he's a good friend, and he makes me happy. And while all this," he looked at them and motioned to the camera, to the projector Mike could now see behind him. "Is _stupid_ , and losing him…like I ever _had_ him, was stupid, I'm glad I got what I got."

He stopped and drummed his hands against the top of his thighs, blowing out a small puff of air. He looked beyond the camera irritably. "That good now?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, but Mike could only half-hear it. "That's good."

The screen goes blank and Mike was on his feet, looking frantically between the door and the wall and-

" _Room 302,"_ the screen helpfully provided.

Mike dashed out of the room, only pausing to give Tina a kiss and patting the other two on the shoulder (or face or side or he wasn't really sure) before taking off down the hallway, then returning for Tina because she was a part of this too, she _mattered_ , and then running off down a different hallway, only figuring out halfway down he didn't know where _he_ was, and Tina might have been giggling into her hand over this, and then figuring it out, and then taking off once more, Tina in tow, only coming to a halt once he found the room that Puck's posse was congregated around. None of them were surprised to see them, Kurt was visibly gleeful and exchanging high fives with Quinn and Finn, Zizes lingering behind them with her arms crossed, smug but knowing look on her face.

They were all there except the guy he was looking for, the one-

"Yours is way longer," Finn explained.

Which was really all there was to it.

Which meant, yes, Sam hadn't screwed up his laptop/camera duties and they _had_ been bamboozled and his girlfriend _was_ the most amazing-est girlfriend that ever did girlfriend and wasn't Zizes a part of the A/V club? That made sense, but so was Artie, and that _also_ made sense, though Mike wasn't entirely sure what he was thinking about right not to be honest his thoughts were getting a little hard to organize because the only thing he really, really, _really_ wanted was for Puck to come out of the room and then for _not_ degrading or humiliating or awful things to happen afterward and in all honestly, following their law of averages even _with_ the heart-felt video that was still 50/50 because it was _them_ and they sucked at things or ruled at sucking and Mike just really wanted to _win_ -

About this time the door behind Puck's team burst open, honest-to-goodness- **not** -dramatizesd _burst_ open and out prowled a livid Puck, Mike's heart sinking (again, which was frankly very impressive considering the amount of times that had happened in the past day alone), and the mohawked teen glared at his friends, two seconds from entering "spitting mad".

"What the hell?!" The jock yelled, and maybe he _couldn't_ see behind them, maybe Mike could still get out of this with dignity and self-respect- oh, alright, he would be realistic and just take the dignity, and the dancer gently grabbed his girlfriend's elbow, attempting to slowly edge back down the hallway.

It would have worked if Dave and Sam hadn't wizarded themselves behind him, both very adamant about his inability to retreat.

"Was that a joke?! Did you pay him did-?" Puck altered his yelling approach for quiet threatening, moving forward to grab onto Finn's shirt. "I swear to god if anyone sees that video…" He threw his arms up, turning and stomping away. "He has a _girlfriend_ for Christ's sake!"

"Who you could _share_ ," Tina offered, devilish smile on her face because they were silly boys and she knew things they could never hope to understand.

Just like that they were all frozen, and by that Mike meant that only he and Puck were frozen because no one else was surprised by this (because they were _stupid._ The others, not Mike and Puck. Mike and Puck were _amazing_ ) and Puck ever-so-slowly turned around, stepping between Kurt and Zizes as he studied the hallway's newest additions.

And Mike…was not doing so well with the brain functioning thing right now. He didn't know what to do. Was this the part where they ran at each other with open arms to embrace one another or would he have to sit down and explain Plan We-All-Date (which was just-yes, the best name _ever_ ) or should he give up and punch Puck in the face before _his_ face could-

"You should kiss now," Tina continued, very pleased with herself, and apparently that was all the motivation Puck needed because Mike found his face full of _face_ , and there were lips and arms and his Puck, _his_ (okay, theirs, but that was for later) and there might have been some not-so PG sounds and retreating of everyone else involved, there could have been cheering, Mike wouldn't know, because he had his Puck, and his Puck didn't think he was worthless after all, and that was just all kinds of amazing.

Puck was in where he was wanted, and he _knew_ he was wanted, and there would be no more doubt, or anger, or fear-

"Seriously?" Puck asked when they broke apart for air, ignoring the catcalls and camera flashes from the other side of the hallway. "Power Rangers?"

And wait a…reboot, reboot, try to figure out what the hell-

And then Mike remembered.

And instead of being defensive Mike just smiled, because his pants were _awesome_ , and patted Puck's back. "It's _Morphin'_ time!" he chirped, smile only growing at Sam's call of _"Pterodactyl!"_ behind them, Finn joining in with _"Mastodon!"_

"No seriously," Puck muttered, casting Mike's pajamas a dubious look. "I leave you alone for like, five minutes-"

"Do not ruin this by talking," Mike warned, running a hand through Puck's Mohawk, and the other teen narrowed his eyes.

"What, are we already back to nagging? I did not miss-"

The kiss was totally to get him to shut up, no other reason, no other _awesome_ reason, and eventually they had to come up for air, Puck resting his forehead against Mike's as they both caught a breather.

"Okay," he whispered, lips quirking up in a smirk. "I _kind_ _of_ missed it."

And really, with sweet talk like that, no one should be surprised that the making out continued for _quite_ awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can imagine, writing Mike's beginning speech was probably the most fun out of all of it, though the tiny moments of Karofsky/Sam bromance was a definite second. And Power Rangers, Sam would totally be the pink ranger. HE WOULD.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE END. 
> 
> Fo'rizzles.

Mike wasn't surprised that his father put up a fight when he declared he was going to repaint his room. The first clue was that the dancer had made it a statement, not a question, the second being that it made no sense, he was about to leave for college anyway and the third, and most important, clue was that the odds of putting a bunch of teenagers in charge of painting a room (one of which was Sam) would probably not result in a product that would aid in the overall value of their home.

But once Mike had explained they had already pooled their money and bought the supplies, had detailed and very explicit designs and promised not a single drop of paint would hit any unintended painting surfaces (and his mother had done a little persuading of her own), Mike got the green light to repaint his room.

They had moved out all his furniture, vacuumed, dusted, taped and tarped and carefully, _oh_ -so carefully sketched out the details in light penciled strokes, cautiously drawing out sections of dinosaurs and ninjas and pirates, robots and rainbows and swirls, music personified in colors on his wall, dancing and popping and locking and _joy_.

It looked…it looked like a bit of mess, when they were all done. So many painters, so many different ideas, so little wall and skill to go around but Mike couldn't have been more pleased with the end result. When they ordered victory pizzas and ate them on the floor of his room, all the tarps and tape put away, they pointed out what sections each of them did, what was their favorite, what of it was whack.

They criticized Puck's pig-faced pirates and marveled at Tina's Go-go vampires lurking in the corners. They laughed at Sam's move to repurpose Puck's "ninja's", now in quotations due to their brightly-colored and most unstealthy clothes and weapons. They admired the combined awesomeness of Blaine, Kurt, Dave, and Santana, whose towering tree took up a majority of the window wall, roots traveling down the floorboards and branches and vines delicate with a somehow mystical, old-world feel to them. Ancient and steadfast and bright, ridiculously bright, orange, teal, and lime-green leaves sprouting off a rainbow trunk. They applauded Quinn and Joe's sunbeams dancing down from the ceiling and giggled at Finn's poor attempts to copy them, eventually having given up to join Brittany and Sugar in their own corner of the room where they had executed a more… "abstract" approach to interior decorating. It had incorporated finger painting, splashing paint, and many, many handprints. Rory and Artie had teamed up together to do a chair-rail height racing stripe all around the room. Three times, in white, black, and green. _"For style,"_ Artie had said. _"For luck,"_ was Rory's excuse, delivered with a wink.

(It was entirely because they wanted a piece of _all_ of the action, and reveled in painting over anything Rachel had done.)

Surprisingly enough, it was Rachel and Mercedes Mike had worked with the most. Not that it was bad, because it was far from that. Between the three of them they connected the entire room, all these vastly different ideas and executions, all so unique and mismatched and seemingly unable to form a cohesive picture, all the hard-edge robots and delicate flowers and super heroes and fluffy clouds. Words and flecks and pictures and feelings; they went around the room like the maestros they were and composed a symphony.

It looked horrible, from a design standpoint. His dad would probably have it painted over the moment Mike moved out of the house, but until then…

Until then he would sit back and enjoy the ride, all of them squished in his room as they rode the high of paint fumes and a job well done.

And until then, and _way_ past then, Mike would sit back and appreciate the two psychotic people he intended to spend the rest of his life with, provided Mike and Tina could keep Puck out of trouble and provided Tina could keep Mike and Puck from drowning in their own ineptitude and provided Mike and Puck maintained their awesome abs (and okay, continued being the best damn boyfriends the world ever did see…assuming that the world consisted solely of the McKinley High Glee Club).

Truly, their pairing was the _best_. Sure, Kurt had Blaine and there was Finchel and Brittanna and now Samofsky (because Sam had wanted to sound like a Russian super spy and no one could persuade him differently, not even Dave), but they were the Hebr-Asian Fusion, and their might (and it _was_ might) would be heard throughout the entire frickin' galaxy.

And if you didn't believe that, you could ask Noah Puckerman's fist for clarification.

It was always glad to lend a helping hand.

-:-:-:-:-:-

(FYI, his father never repainted the room. Which, as it turned out, struck a real chord with the next homeowners. They signed for it immediately, "ninjas" and all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Sam is obviously way into of painting things, see evidence: he wanted to take Quinn to "Color Me Mine" and repainted that statue of a Wiseman for Mercedes. So this one's because of him.
> 
> And because in my humble opinion, it just made sense.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos guys, I really appreciate it :)


End file.
